


The Killing Moon

by taketheblanket



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Bottom Noctis Lucis Caelum, Character Deaths, Complete, Depression, Dom bottom Noct, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Ignis and Prompto are alive, M/M, Petplay, Recovery, Restraints, Rimming, Smoking, Some Plot, Sub top Gladio, Unrequited Love, a lot of porn, coping with loss, depictions of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-04 21:14:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 50,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11563455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taketheblanket/pseuds/taketheblanket
Summary: Noctis and Gladio are the only survivors in a massacre designed to bring an end to Lucis. Upon returning to Insomnia, Gladio finds himself with nothing left but his duty to protect Noctis, who must somehow find the strength in tragedy to be the King at the dawn of their fathers' war.





	1. Chapter 1

Noctis stands front and center in the Ceremonial Hall at Fenestala Manor. He’s slouching. Gladio stands up taller himself, his habitual signal to Noctis to fix his posture, but at the moment he is positioned behind him and there is no chance the prince will turn to look his way.

Pulling his shoulders back, his formal uniform pulls snug against his chest and squeezes his arms uncomfortably. He had been refitted less than a month ago, but he’s found himself agitated for no traceable reason lately, and exercise had always been his release. He subtly shifts from foot to foot, his ceremonial boots as shiny as black oil but stiff like the leather had never seen the stuff. Gladio can feel the heels bite into his skin.

He can only imagine Noctis is even more uncomfortable than he is. In addition to the pitch black suit tailored slim to fit his slender frame, Noctis has been draped in a thick cape of black fur so heavy that his shoulders roll forward and the cape drags along the floor. It must weigh a hundred pounds, the fur studded with decorative chains throughout, clasped beneath his chin with a polished silver skull the size of the prince’s fist. 

Despite a lifetime of preparation, Gladio feels out of his element at this foreign ceremony. He had never been to Tenebrae, and while the Citadel had it’s fair share of grandiose, nothing could compete with the ethereal, dream-like tone of his surroundings. Three days ago, he climbed into the Regalia with Iris, Noctis and their fathers. Distantly, he wonders if maybe they are actually still sitting there, sound asleep.

Gladio had tried his best to give Noctis a bachelor’s party, but having left Prompto and Ignis back in Insomnia, they were left without humor nor plans. Instead, Noctis and Gladio had sat quietly in his room, sipping scotch and staring into the fireplace.

“I’m not ready,” Noctis had divulged. 

After a moment of contemplation, Gladio settled on, “she will be a lovely bride.”

The music begins to play.

The Oracle descends from a curved staircase at the back of the hall. Gladio has never seen a more gorgeous woman. Her white dress hugs hips and thighs and she takes each step slowly, deliberately. Gladio finds himself resenting the distance she must traverse, the snugness of his uniform across his hammering heart. Her pale hair is braided elaborately, laced through small silver skulls. Gladio swallows the rising bile in his throat.

Noctis has turned to face his bride while she approaches, and Gladio is allowed the left half of his face. He searches him desperately, but cannot find any of the unease he is feeling reflected back in Noctis’ expression. The Prince’s eyes are glued to the Lady Lunafreya as she approaches and Gladio follows the flickering blue gaze back to her, watching her walk down the aisle, flower petals swirling around her feet. As she gets closer, he can see her breasts heaving with her breath, mouth open into a shy smile as she looks back at Noctis. 

  
Gladio has to look away. He finds his sister in the front row, tears streaming silently over her cheeks and when her gaze meets his, her cheeks turn red. He has to fight the urge to shake his head, instead looking away from her and letting his eyes scan the room. He knows some of the faces in the crowd, but for the most part, Gladio finds every set of eyes that follows the Oracle to be strange and alien. 

The Lady Lunafreya stops just before the set of stairs that will lead her to where Noctis awaits. She looks up at him and Gladio follows her gaze back to Noctis, but he cannot tolerate at the expression of fondness on the Prince’s face and so he looks away once more, scanning the faces of his father, His Majesty, and the rest of the Crownsguard standing behind Noctis. A stark comparison to the looks of awe and adoration from the audience, the men standing behind the couple stare down at them with tight mouths and hard, dark eyes. Their intensity makes Gladio pause, the uneasiness in his gut finding purchase. He studies his father’s face, willing him to look his direction, but he won’t. From behind them, Gladio watches as a statue-like row of Niflheim officers come to life.

Gladio’s eyes widen in panic.

_ Something is wrong. _

The Shield’s attention snaps back to his Prince. Lady Lunafreya lowers her bouquet from her breast to reach for him when Noctis puts a hand out to her.

_ Noctis, no.  _

The Oracle falls.

A chorus of screams erupts through the crowd, but Lunafreya is silent as she falls to her knees. Her bouquet rolls forgotten away from her as her hands comes to clutch at the dagger deep in her chest. Her dress turns red.

“Luna!!!” Noctis is screaming as chaos is born around them. “Luna! Luna, no, no!”

Gladio lunges for him, but someone gets there before he does, wrapping their arms around Noctis from behind, a gloved hand over his mouth to silence his screams while he struggles against his assailant. Gladio can barely bend over in his formal dress as he pulls the knife from his sock. 

  
With the blade between his teeth, he rips his blazer open, buttons clattering to the floor, and the garment falls just as Gladio has to turn around and block an attack aimed at him. More than two dozen Niflheim officials have drawn their weapons on their Lucian guests. He throws one attacker to the floor and another simply takes his place.

The hall glitters icy blue with the ghosts of Royal Arms in the sky. He can see their reflection in Noctis’ wide, terrified eyes as the Prince is dragged from the hall.  

Gladio runs for him, but his progress is slow, every step interrupted. It is his father that finally affords him the chance, coming up behind Gladio and pressing his back to his, his staff held poised to swipe down anyone that approaches.

“Gladio!” he commands. “Go!”

He closes the distance in two strides and leaps on them, taking down both Noctis and his attacker. The Nif lay on the ground beneath the Prince, snarling at Gladio and tightening his elbow around Noctis’ neck. Noctis is choking, his open mouth desperately gasping for air, his hands grasping weakly at the grip, trying to pull himself free.

Gladio slashes at the arm and the man shouts, releasing Noctis, who rolls to his knees coughing. Noctis’ attacker produces a knife and jabs it toward Gladio but he pounces on him, plunging his own blade deep in his throat, splitting him open there, killing him instantly. As the man’s body goes limp, the knife he held above Gladio’s eyes carves a thin line down the left half of his face. Unfeeling, he turns back to Noctis and reaches out to help him to his feet. Noctis puts a small bloody hand in Gladio’s and Gladio can see the sickening glint of bone through a deep gash on the Prince’s left wrist. He knows immediately.

_ I did that. _

He can’t pause to process. There is no time. Gladio tucks his knife under the skull brooch on Noctis’ cape and cuts him free. Noctis looks up at him as the heavy cape falls away. A moment later, Noctis’ greatsword materializes in Gladio’s hands and Noctis white knuckles his engine blade, warping back into the fray.

Away from home, ambushed, Lucis is outnumbered. Gladio fights endlessly, and although he can take out two or three men with one sweep of Noctis’ greatsword, it isn’t enough. At the back of the hall, Gladio finds his sister, calling out at civilians over the chaos, ushering people through the open door. His eyes are seemingly drawn towards her, lock on her, just in time to watch her collapse beneath gunfire.

He cries out, turning away from her in his grief to cut down yet another bastard Nif.

He has to find Noctis.

Explosions start to rock the hall and people hit the ground as the earth shifts beneath them. Gladio manages to stay on his feet and it allows him to locate the prince, several feet away, unmoving where he kneels.

Gladio runs.

“Noct,” he gasps, skidding to a stop before him, blocking Noctis with his body as bullet casings ricochet around them. “We need to go.” 

“I can’t,” Noctis says. His voice is even, his eyes not leaving the bodies on the ground before him. Gladio looks down at them and a choked sob escapes him when he sees his father and the King lifeless before Noctis, laid out in pools of blood on the chilling marble. The sight makes him want to sit down too, but he knows he can’t. He has a duty to uphold, if he is to honor the deaths before them.

Another explosion booms from behind them and Gladio reaches for him, grabbing Noctis’ hand and pulling him to his feet. 

  
“We have to go,” he repeats, dragging Noctis away from their fathers and towards the exit. Gladio can feel the Ring of Lucii burning in his palm where he squeezes Noctis’ small hand in his.

He drags Noctis out of the cathedral and through a courtyard and he wants to keep going but his grip on Noctis’ hand grows wet and he keeps slipping through his fingers. Gladio pulls him behind a wall and stares down at the wound on Noctis’ wrist. Through the moonlight, he can see the blood pouring from the wound, gently pulsing with the beat of his heart.

“Shit, Noct,” he says, squeezing his arm above the wound to staunch the flow.  _ He would never forgive himself.  _

“We got company,” Noct says lowly.

Glancing over his shoulder, Gladio sees at least six hostiles quickly approaching them.

“Damn.”

Gladio releases Noctis to reach down and unbuckle his belt, pulling it loose. Noctis frantically shrugs out of his suit jacket. Gladio tightens the belt around Noctis’ arm and just barely finishes cinching it when Noctis pulls away from him, King Regis’ sword suddenly drawn.

An afterthought,  the greatsword appears in Gladio’s hands moments later.   
  
Still, watching Noctis advance, his father’s sword in hand, Gladio sees the boy he's known for so long as a man for the first time.

Noctis is a spectacular fighter. He streaks across the moonlit courtyard, leaving sparks in his wake, easily putting two teks into the ground. The shocking beauty of the courtyard aglow with Noctis and the moon awakens him-- brought about by unfathomable violence, the realization that he’s been in love with Noctis all these years.

“Gladio!”

Noctis’ call pulls him from his reverie and he attacks.

It doesn’t take long and the humanoids are smoking on the ground, scattered around them. Noctis gives Gladio a wild-eyed, open mouthed look that says  _ I’m surprised that was so easy. _

It doesn’t stay easy.

The make their way down stone staircases carved into the mountainside, picking out Nifs as they go. Sometimes there are only one or two guarding a crossing of paths, but other times they are descended upon by groups of five or more. 

  
Gladio walks two stairs behind him, watching the blood drip steadily from his wrist, painting their trail.

They’re leading them right here, down narrow pathways with no escape. Gladio needs to get them back to the main road. Noctis has been bleeding for fifteen minutes. He needs to get Noctis in the car, on the road, to safety.

With every battle, Noctis seems to be getting weaker. He stops warping entirely. He isn't using his father’s sword. He stumbles to catch himself as the staircase turns around a corner. Gladio grabs Noctis by the back of his shirt and steadies him.

“Stay with me, Noct.” 

Three more flights. Two. One.

No more attacks. A gift from the Six.

The road comes into view. The Regalia waits peacefully. Noctis stops, their swords dissolving and Gladio feels panicked for its loss. Noctis leans on the wall and produces the keys from the pocket of his pants.

_ The keys. _

In his reaction, Gladio hadn’t even thought about needing the keys. When had Noctis gotten the keys?

“They knew,” Noctis says.

And then he collapses.

Gladio carries Noctis to the car, horrified by how light he feels in his arms. He places his unconscious body in the passenger seat. The Prince is barely breathing.

Flying down the highway, Gladio calls Ignis.

“Gladio?”

“There was an attack. At the wedding,” he rushes out, his hand shakes on the wheel. “Everyone's-- everyone--”

“Gladio, where is Noctis?”

“I have him, I have him,” he says, glancing over at Noctis, pale and small.

Ignis sighs. “Good job.”

“Iggy,” he says urgently, “he's in real bad shape. He's lost a lot of blood.”

There is a terrible pause but when Ignis starts to speak, his voice is a relief.

“Is he wearing the Ring of Lucii?”

“Yes,” Gladio says, eyes cutting to Noctis’ limp body. Despite the glove of blood he wears, the Ring of Lucii shines dark and bold on his finger. “Should I take it off?”

“No,” Iggy says, resigned. “It may have not been the wedding he anticipated, but Noctis still took an unbreakable vow.

“Now listen, the closest outpost is six miles to the East. Buy some potions. Enough to give him one every half hour. The Ring will prevent a full recovery from potion alone. Prompto and I are hitting the road now. We can meet you with medical attention by sunrise. Keep him alive, Gladio.”

“Got it.”

“Good.”

Leaving Noctis’ quiet body in the Regalia while Gladio shakily counts out Gil feels like torture. Tenebrae blazes against the horizon, making the night sky glow red. The distracted shopkeep takes one look at Gladio, wounded across the face, in just his formal slacks, having left his blood soaked shirt in the car, and says, “I hope The Oracle and her Prince are alright.”

He buys twice as many potions as Ignis suggests, and uses them twice as often.

Gladio drives for hours, opening a potion onto Noctis every fifteen minutes. With each dose of magic that drags Noctis away from the edge of death, the prince moans. The sound is full of pain and grief and his heart aches to hear it, but Gladio is relieved he's alive.

Still, he will not wake.

He drives until he cannot see straight, skeptical of every set of headlights that passes. He does not stop the car until he has to swerve off the road to avoid hitting a girl sitting in the middle of the pavement. Turning over his shoulder, he realizes that nothing was there.

He drives another ten minutes to an outpost with a camper and lays Noctis on the dingy bed in his blood soaked wedding dress. The wound on his wrist still seeps gently, despite the tourniquet. Gladio feels like there is a message hidden in the poetry of inflicting a lethal wound on Noctis the same night he realized he is in love with him.

If the Prince is to survive, Gladio cannot sleep. He kneels beside his bed, empty potion bottles littering the floor. The exhaustion of his vigil makes him weak, and he cannot fight the images that cloud his mind: his baby sister crumpling, his father’s cold, lifeless eyes.

Gladio stares down at the pale moon of Noctis’ face. It will be the only time he allows himself to cry. 


	2. Chapter 2

Noctis wakes up in his bed. The apartment smells clean and so he knows Ignis is here. His joints ache like he's been asleep for a long time. Distantly, Noctis wonders if he missed any appointments. 

He stretches. 

One the right side, something catches Noctis and yanks him back down. Excruciating pain shoots across his left arm, up into his shoulder, piercing his heart. 

Noctis shouts, looking down at his arms. At the bandage on his wrist and the ring on his finger. At the bruise Gladio’s belt left behind on his forearm. At the needle and drip in his right hand. 

And he remembers. 

“Noct, are you alright?” 

The sound of Ignis’ voice through the cracked bedroom door makes him cry.

He  _ isn’t _ alright. Not at all. Noctis lay in bed and weeps. He feels exhausted, and weak. His wrist aches deeply and his finger burns beneath the ring. His grief smothers him. 

Ignis leaves him be for nearly an hour but he eventually approaches the door again, rapping softly.

“If you eat some food, I will take you off the drip.”

“Come in,” Noctis says.

Ignis enters with a tray table and sets it beside his bed. There is a small, steaming bowl of white rice next to a smaller dish of chicken. There is a large glass of water and a glass of milk. Ignis hands him the water, he takes a sip.

“How do you feel, Your Highness?”

“Like shit,” Noctis answers. 

He sits up slowly, wincing in pain. He reaches for the rice and takes a small bite before dropping the fork and holding his right hand out to Ignis. 

Ignis sighs. 

He turns around and gathers some medical supplies from Noctis’ nightstand. He pulls the needle free, before applying pressure with his thumb. He cleans his hand with an alcohol pad and dresses the wound with a cotton ball and piece of tape. With his attention on the task, Noctis can take the opportunity to study Ignis. He looks more or less the same, maybe a little stressed. 

Noctis feels worlds away. 

“Where’s Gladio?” 

Ignis looks up and their eyes meet, Noctis looks down at his injured arm. 

“He's here. He has not left since we brought you home. Prompto is here as well. Would you like to see them?” 

“Yeah,” Noctis says. 

“Eat, Your Highness,” Ignis says, sitting down in a chair by the wall and opening a manilla folder,  “You have been asleep for three days. Eat, and then I will allow you to have company.” 

Noctis manages only half of the small portion Ignis prepared, but it satisfies him anyway, and Ignis puts down his reading to clear away the tray. 

“Good,” he says. “Now I’ll get the guys. There are important matters to discuss.” 

He leaves the door open. Prompto and then Gladio enter. They walk softly, they look sad. Noctis remembers these looks. He sighs and looks away from them. 

“Hey,” he says. 

“Hey, Noct!” Prompto sighs in relief. “Gods, I’m so glad you’re okay, buddy.” 

“Yeah… Thanks, Prom,” Noctis sighs. 

“Thought we’d nearly lost ya there,” Gladio says.  

Noctis doesn’t respond. Ignis returns a moment later. 

“We are all glad to see you recovering,” Ignis says in a tone that makes Noctis brace himself against the imminent. “How much do you remember from the attack?” 

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Prompto says, “can’t we let the guy rest?” 

“Isn’t it a little soon for a debriefing, Iggy? He just woke up.” Gladio agrees. 

“He has been asleep for three days,” Ignis says firmly. “A debriefing is long overdue.” And then, to Noctis, “Your Highness?” 

Noctis looks at Gladio, where he stands at the wall, watching him solemnly from beneath the brim of his cap. The shadow it casts over his face is not enough to mask the slice that bisects it, and just seeing him wounded brings it all back. 

“I remember everything.” 

_ Everything _ . Every detail. The way Luna died. Gladio cutting him with his knife. His father, sliding the Ring on his finger and the keys into his pocket, speaking his last words with his lips pressed against Noctis’ ear, murmured through blood. 

_ Run, Noctis. You were Chosen. This is the path. _

“Good,” Ignis says. “That’ll save us some time.”

He continues, “After you fell unconscious, Gladio carried you to the car and drove you through the night to meet us.”

At those words, Noctis’ eyes cut sharply away from his bodyguard. 

“He kept you alive through the night with potions. Prompto and I met you the next morning and we gave you a blood transfusion in a camper in Duscae. Then we brought you here.”

He cannot look at any of them while Ignis paints the terrible picture of the night that followed. He is glad he was asleep for it. In an attempt to avoid their eyes, he finds himself staring at the Ring of Lucii instead, but that isn’t much better. 

“I must admit, the Nation is somewhat in shambles, but I am working closely with Cor to implement some protocol that was put in place for this event.” 

Noctis bristles. 

“Cor  _ knew?”  _ Noctis glares up at Ignis. “Did  _ you  _ know?” 

“Cor did not know specifically, he had been told they were simply preparations, but he had his doubts. As did I,” Ignis admits. “It didn’t sit right that the King himself asked Prompto and I not to attend the wedding.” 

“Ignis!” Noctis chokes out in dismay. “Why wouldn’t you say something to me?” 

Ignis is unaffected by Noctis’ rage. 

“I had nothing to say, no evidence, no information to go on. I thought best to obey my given role in the plan for the line of Lucis. If Gladio was to shield you, we were to receive you.” 

Noctis looks to Prompto when he shrugs and says,  “Sometimes you just gotta follow your gut, Noct.” 

Noctis looks to the ceiling, tears spilling once again. He sighs in frustration. 

“What else, Ignis?”

“How does the Ring feel?”

“Hot,” Noctis answers, looking down at the black ring on the third finger of his left hand, with its dark intricate face and the single round diamond in the center, partially revealed like a waning moon. “It burns. Will that go away?” 

“Probably not,” Ignis says. “You’ll get used to it.” 

“I can’t take it off?” Noctis asks, looking up at him. 

“It’s advised not. You are powering the wall that surrounds the Crown City. As we speak, Niflheim builds bases on the outskirts of Lucis in preparation of taking us. You are Insomnia’s last line of defense.” 

“Ah,” Noctis says.

“Indeed,” Ingis hums. “For now, you are to focus on recovering. The Ring will slow the healing of your arm dramatically, being so close to the wound. Take care not to over exert yourself. I will be by daily. Let Cor and I do our jobs. When you are recovered enough, we will have the Coronation.” 

“Coronation,” Noctis repeats numbly. 

“Niflheim confirms your death. They approach to claim a kingless land. We’ve got to show them we’ve got a King,” Ignis says with resolve. 

Noctis stares at him for a long moment. 

“Fine.” 

“Splendid. Start considering men for your Crownsguard, they will attend your crowning and beyond, when you are well enough to go out on missions,” Ignis tells him. 

Noctis’ heart pounds hard in his chest and his wrist pulses painfully in time with it. 

“You, Prompto, Gladio,” he answers quickly. 

“That’s not what I meant. A Crownsguard is traditionally composed of soldiers from the Glaive, who will serve you and protect you in the city and on the field.”

“You three,” Noctis says adamantly. “Gladio’s a Glaive and you can fight. Give Prompto… guns.” 

Prompto chokes. Gladio and Ignis are looking at each other and then Gladio looks back to Noctis, taking a few steps towards him. 

“Three Guards are not enough,” Gladio tells him. 

“Please,” Noctis says to him. “You’re the only three I trust.” 

Ignis studies him for a moment with calculating eyes. Noctis glares back at him, holding the eye contact because he knows it’s the only way he’ll win the argument. Ignis sets his mouth into a straight line and eventually sighs. 

“Well then,” he says. “We’ll have to make do. We shall let you rest,  _ Your Majesty.” _

Immensely grateful for not only his concession, but everything his adviser has done for him so far, Noctis looks at Ignis and sighs. 

“Thanks, Iggy.” 

“You’re welcome, Noct.” 

Ignis leaves the room first and a moment later, Gladio follows. Prompto lingers, inching toward Noctis’ bed. 

“Hey man,” he says softly. “I love you and I’m glad you’re okay. I shouldn’t be doing this but,” he sets a pack of cigarettes down on his bedside table. “I figured you probably needed the stress-relief. Just don’t get caught! Iggy would have my head.” 

“Prompto,” Noctis says sincerely, brushing the cigarettes into his bedside drawer, the  _ one  _ drawer Ignis won't touch. “You are my best friend.” 

“You too, buddy,” Prompto smiles, patting him gently on the back. “I’ll come see you tomorrow.” 

Prompto shuts the door on his way out. Slowly, Noctis rises from his bed. He pees, and very slowly washes his hands, examining the reddened skin that spreads beneath the Ring. He rinses his mouth and face and when he catches his reflection in the mirror, Noctis is momentarily disturbed by the unfamiliar face looking back at him. He looks worn, dark bag beneath his eyes just like the ones his father used to wear. He stares back at his face. The  _ King’s  _ face. He sighs. 

Noctis pulls a hoodie from his closet and steps into a pair of sweats. He grabs the cigarettes from the bedside table and is relieved to find that Prompto had the foresight to tuck a thin black lighter inside. He slides his feet into the pair of slippers sitting by the bed. 

Stepping down the hall, Gladio’s form comes into view. His sits on the couch, leaning forward on his knees. He puts down his book when he hears Noctis approaching. 

“I wondered if you were still here,” Noctis says, leaning on the wall. 

“I will stay by your side,” Gladio tells him. 

“Yeah, Ignis said that,” Noctis says, studying the pile of books on the coffee table, the pillow and blanket on the couch. He meets Gladio’s eyes. “Do you want to come sit on the balcony with me?” 

Gladio stands. “Sure.” 

Noctis grabs the glass of milk from the fridge. 

The balcony overlooks the recent risen moon, the last of the orange in the sky fading in indigo, lights flickering on across Insomnia, each one of them a person, or a family. Each one his responsibility. Noctis leans against the edge of the railing and he can feel Gladio slide the glass door shut behind them. 

Noctis takes one of the two chairs, pulling the cigarettes from his hoodie pocket. He scoots the chair up against the railing so he can knock the ashes into the wind. He glances sideways at Gladio when Gladio joins him, appreciating the look of shock on his bodyguard’s face. 

“Don’t tell Iggy,” Noctis implores. 

“Not good for you,” Gladio says with resignation, settling into his chair and leaning back. 

“Neither is this ring,” Noctis says, holding his left hand out for Gladio to see the singed skin on his finger beneath it. Gladio stares briefly at it before his eyes sink lower, to the bandage on his wrist. Noctis lights his cigarette. 

Gladio gazes at Noctis while he smokes. Noctis feels like there’s so much they need to say to each other, but he doesn’t know where to begin. Gladio is unusually quiet and Noctis had sort of been counting on him to start. What do you say to the person who was right there for every horror you just experienced? 

_ Thank you. _

“Couch comfortable?” is what he comes up with instead. 

“It’s good,” Gladio says, one arm folded behind his head as he leans back against the wall. He looks tired, studying Noctis through heavily-lidded eyes, or maybe it's just the swelling in his face. It looks like the gash wasn’t very deep, the skin has already sealed shut with a dark purple scar, but the skin surrounding it is pink and puffy and slightly distorts the Shield’s expression. 

“I guess there’s nothing waiting at home for you now,” he says without thinking. 

Gladio’s mouth falls open in shock and he looks away from Noctis, staring out at the cityscape.

“I’ll go back eventually,” Gladio says. “I’m just not ready. The pain of watching loved ones--” 

“Starting to get used to it,” Noctis interrupts, blowing smoke out with the words. 

Gladio frowns, sighing at him. He always gives him the same look when he knows Noctis is lying and wants to call him out on it, but upon his wounded face, the expression is heavier somehow, pulled down by the gravity of their personal loss. 

“Why did you have to save me, Gladio?” Noctis asks, tapping his cigarette against the railing. 

Ash lands on Gladio’s knee and Noctis watches him brush it away instead of making the eye contact Gladio desperately seeks.

“It’s my duty to protect you. I’m your Shield.” 

Noctis looks up at him then. 

“Yeah. You’re also the one who cut me.” 

Gladio stares at him in horror. Noctis turns his gaze out to the night sky, dragging on his cigarette.

“I just wish you would have let me go. I don’t see how this is any better.” 

“I couldn’t let you die, Noct. I couldn’t let the last in the line of Lucis die because his Shield was clumsy with a knife.” 

Noctis sniggers then, his eyes slicing over to Gladio, who gives him a soft, lopsided smile in return. The miniscule moment of relief fizzles out and the look his long-time friend gives him sends a pang of sadness through his heart. They are too young to be orphaned on purpose and left with a nation to rule. 

“I couldn’t think of a better way to go,” Noctis tells him. “At least it would be at the hands of someone I trusted.” 

Gladio stares back at him blankly.

“Nevermind,” he says, quickly. “You wouldn’t understand.” 

“I understand,” Gladio insists. “We’re all going to die. There is power in owning it.” 

“Yeah…” Noctis says trailing off. 

The conversation ends there, and Gladio just watches Noctis stare out at the city and smoke his cigarette. There is more to say, more pain to dig through, but for now Noctis finds the silence more tolerable than introspection. Gladio’s watchful gaze isn’t as unnerving as he expects it to be, and he takes his time smoking, trying to let his edges blur. When he smokes the cigarette to the end, he opens his fingers and lets the breeze take it. He drinks the entire glass of milk and sets it down with a sigh. 

“Stay here as long as you need to,” Noctis tells him, rising from his chair. 

“You couldn’t make me leave, Noct,” Gladio responds, laughing without humor. “I’d sleep in the hallway outside your door.” 

Noctis looks at his Shield and Gladio looks back at him. Behind him, the starless sky turns the same burgundy color as the scar down his face.  Suddenly, Noctis cannot look away, Gladio holds onto him with his eyes. 

“Tell me,” Gladio says, leaning forward in his chair. “If you trusted me with your death, will you trust me with your life?” 

“You can have it,” Noctis says flippantly. “It never belonged to me anyway.” 

He goes back to bed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading ^^
> 
> ~swords will cross chapter three~


	3. Chapter 3

 

For the next three days, Noctis sleeps a lot, eats little, and talks even less. Gladio worries from the couch. He distracts himself with novels and push-ups, but his hyper-vigilant ears stayed tuned to every sound that comes from inside or outside of the apartment. He waits, minute by minute, for signs of Noctis emerging from his bedroom. 

He keeps no schedule and Gladio is a light sleeper. Noctis’ depression aligns with the moon, and Gladio spends his nights missing sleep to sit outside with Noctis and watch him smoke. Gladio frantically studies Noctis in the few minutes he is allowed each day. At first, Noctis would cast resentful looks his way, his fingers tugging at the bandage holding together his wrist, but with time his expression softened and Gladio began to feel desperate for it. 

When he isn’t reading or exercising, Gladio quietly grieves. He thinks about his sister and his father, and the only thing that lessens the pain is focusing on his duty as the Shield to the Chosen King. The only way he knows how to honor their unfair deaths is to complete the mission his father and the King Regis have entrusted to him.

Several times a night, Noctis and Gladio sit apart on the balcony, beneath the moon, each quietly suffering, each trying to process the way their lives have changed. Noctis wakes up from nightmares and smokes in silence and Gladio aches in his loneliness. He doesn’t know how to tell Noctis what he’s feeling. No longer a brother, no longer a son, Gladio feels like his duty as Shield is all that remains inside of him.

The watchful moon looms in the jeweled sky like a threat. A witness to their tragedy, lingering to remind Gladio that their war has only just begun. 

Ignis comes by in the afternoons. Proceedings at the Citadel keep him busy, but he brings them food when he doesn’t have time to stay and cook. He sits with Gladio in the living room, looking him over with calculated eyes. 

“How are you doing?” 

“Taking it day by day,” he answers truthfully. 

“That’s the only way to do it,” he concurs. 

Ignis looks composed, but Gladio knows him well enough to see the stress lines in his forehead. Ignis must be dealing with a world of chaos back at the Palace, but Gladio cannot bring himself to care much, even when Ignis shares with him daily updates and furthered plans. He knows he will have to return there soon, face the reality that awaits them, but for the time being, his world consists of four easy-to-defend walls and Noctis, safe at their center. There just isn’t room for much else. 

“How is Noctis?”

“He sleeps a lot. He is grieving,” Gladio tells him. “He talks to me a little.”

“Is he eating?”

“Enough.”

“He's resisting the ceremony,” Ignis says. 

“I’m not looking forward to it much myself,” Gladio agrees. 

After Ignis speaks with him, he vanishes into Noctis’ bedroom for a similar conversation and to redress his wound. On his way out, Ignis gathers the trash and starts the dishwasher. Pausing at the front door, he turns to look at Gladio. 

“And Gladio,” he says, leveling him with his calculated eyes. “Don't let him smoke.” 

Naturally, Noctis usually  _ wants _ to smoke the moment Ignis leaves. The first few times Noctis had verbally invited him, but that quickly devolved into simply leaving the sliding glass door open, waiting for Gladio to join him and close it, lest the incriminating smoke blow back into the apartment.

Gladio knows the habit is bad, and he dreads the day Ignis discovers he's indulging it, but Noctis seems to talk better when he has something for his hands and lips to do. It gives Gladio something to do too. Noctis’ smoke breaks punctuate the monotony of Gladio’s days. The small balcony is intimate, with only two chairs and despite the vast view, Gladio cannot help but fall into Noctis’ spell. 

Noctis doesn't seemed to mind being watched while he smokes, and he’s even begun to turn his blue eyes to meet Gladio’s occasionally, holding him there for a moment. 

Eye contact from Noctis is new. 

His heart skips every time. 

He is so beautiful. 

Gladio wants to do whatever he has to do to help Noctis heal. 

Noctis sits in a chair against the railing. Gladio is tired of sitting, so he leans back against the building. They both gaze out at the sprawling city. It's the only time of the day either man sees the outside world. Perched above the landscape, they are for now, safe from the war that awaits them below. Instead they are gifted with just the breeze and sometimes a rare eagle that soars into their sky, screeching down into the walled city before sailing away, back into the wilderness. Noctis smokes quietly, occasionally looking down at his left hand, slowly flexing the fingers. 

“How's it healing?” 

“It's not,” Noctis says. “Starts bleeding again every time Ignis takes the bandage off.”

Gladio frowns down at him, but the guilt of wounding Noctis has started to fade. Gladio finds an untrustworthy part of himself satisfied that the injury will keep Noctis here safe at home for longer. 

“Ignis is harassing me about the…” he trails off, gesturing his hand, the cigarette tossing sparks as he does. “I'm gonna milk this injury as long as possible.”

“Noct,” Gladio says disapprovingly. 

Noctis takes a long drag from the cigarette and Gladio watches his pink lips drawn around it. His hand shakes when he pulls it away from his mouth. Noctis lets the breath out slowly. 

“I think I'll piss my pants if I have to do another ceremony right now,” he admits.

Gladio looks at him, still battered and bruised from the last ceremony in his name, his cheeks sunken and his eyes red. The young King opening up about his fear makes the fire of protection burn inside his Shield. Gladio has had three days of processing on Noctis, and while it doesn't seem like much, he has made peace with his calling, has found his resolve in the darkness. He knows his purpose now is to help Noctis find his. 

“I will stay by your side.”

“Yeah,” Noctis laughs to himself. “You keep saying that.” 

It's true. Gladio tells him every chance he gets. 

After a pause to smoke, he continues. “I keep dreaming about my dad.”

“Me too.” 

“I'm still angry,” Noctis says hotly. “Why aren't you angry?” 

“I'm too sad to be angry.”

Noctis looks at him then, smoke tumbling from his parted lips, drawing Glado’s eye away from blue eyes to watch his mouth. This is the most Noct has spoken to him in days and he is still afraid Noct may stop and never speak again, so he encourages him to continue. 

“It's okay to be angry,” Gladio tells him. “Whatever you're feeling is okay.” 

Noctis looks out at the view then, across the vast city being warmed by an early Autumn sun, casting shades of gold and amber and brown across the rooftops of a typically grey metropolis. 

“I feel like taking flight,” Noctis tells him standing up and dropping his smoked cigarette over the side. 

Noctis leans over the rail, ten stories beneath them. The wind ruffles his ash black hair, the sun glints in the diamond of Noctis’ ring. Gladio watches him carefully. His fingers twitch with the desire to reach out and grab the back of his shirt. 

“I won't do it,” he says after a moment. “But that's what I'm feeling.” 

“That's okay,” Gladio tells him. “It will pass, and I will stay by your side.” 

Noctis turns around to face Gladio, leaning his lower back against the rail. He holds his injured arm against his chest. The balcony is narrow, the sliding glass door is closed, and Gladio finds himself standing and facing Noctis, just a few feet from him. He cannot stop himself from approaching, drawn into Noctis’ sadness like a siren call, until they are only inches from each other. Noctis’ eyes slide away from Gladio’s face and down his arms where the feathered flesh emerges from his tank top. His eyes trail down the length of his arms and lower, to his hands. Gladio watches his face intently. He wants to kiss him so bad. 

He won't do it, but it's what he's feeling. 

Noctis meets his eyes once more and sighs. He squeezes past Gladio and heads for his room. 

Prompto comes by in the evenings. He always stops by Gladio on the couch first. 

“How you doin’, Big Guy?” 

“Gettin’ by,” Gladio tells him. 

He and Prompto have never been terribly close, although Gladio has been following him around for years. The last year or so he has gotten to know Prompto better, hanging out with him and Ignis here at Noctis’ apartment-- better days. He appreciates Prompto reaching out to him in the wake of their tragedy and it helps him see the King’s friend as more than just an effervescent energy. He can see the duty and concern behind Prompto’s eyes; it’s same edge behind Ignis’ studious gaze and deep in his own eyes when he looks himself in the mirror. They are members of the Crownsguard now. Prompto will be with them until the end. 

“How's shooting going?” 

Prompto sighs, rubbing an anxious hand through his hair. 

“I'm getting better. Ignis has me on the range twice a day to practice. I at least can hit the targets now… most of the time.”

“Stick with it,” Gladio tells him. “You'll get there.” 

“Look,” Prompto says, lifting his flannel shirt to reveal a black pistol holstered to his waist, beneath his clothes. “Iggy’s making me carry it,” he explains. 

“It's a good idea,” Gladio says, flexing his foot to feel the bite of the knife he religiously wears around his right ankle. 

“Takes some getting used to,” Prompto admits, rising from his seat. “Let me know if you need anything, buddy.” 

“Thanks, Prompto.” 

Prompto nods and retreats to Noct’s room. With the door cracked, Gladio listens to them play King’s Knight for an hour. 

When Prompto leaves, Noctis usually creeps out to the kitchen for some dinner. Tonight, Gladio is in push-up position, only halfway through a self-inflicted set of one hundred. He tries to avoid making Noctis feel watched all the time so he does not pause his workout, but he keeps tabs on him with his peripheral vision. Noctis eats a bowl of cereal leaning on the kitchen counter and watches the second half. 

Before he's finished, Noctis retreats to the balcony and lights a cigarette. He leaves the door open, and the smoke blows back into the apartment. Gladio can smell it from the ground. Rising to his feet, he promises to finish the last ten later. 

He is still breathing heavily as he shuts the sliding glass door, the night breeze rapidly chilling his damp skin. He regrets leaving his sweatshirt on the couch, but Noctis is looking right up at him when he comes outside and so Gladio cannot leave him now. 

He sits in the chair beside him. 

Noctis is wearing the same joggers and the same black zip up hoodie that’s been in since they came home. He smokes slowly, exhaling lazily so that the smoke curls around his cheeks and jaw, up through his unwashed hair and down around the hood that bunches up by his ears. Despite the ragged look about him, he seems more peaceful than he has in days. 

He’ll let him finish the pack, Gladio decides, and then he’ll make him stop. 

“Who won?” Gladio asks. 

“In King’s Knight?” Noctis asks, tapping ash on the rail. “Me, of course.”

Gladio smiles to himself. Once upon a time, Noctis’ arrogance would grate on him. Now, he's just grateful to start seeing Noctis’s personality shining through the cracks. 

It's all Noctis wants to say. He smokes in silence, and that’s not unusual, but he's _watching_ Gladio, _has_ _been_ watching Gladio since he left the bedroom…

...and that  _ is  _ unusual. 

Gladio knows Noctis well, knows that Noctis will only look directly at someone if they're not looking back. He's used to the feeling of Noctis looking him over when he's turned away, but Noctis watched him work out for the entire time he ate his cereal and now he's still watching him while he sucks on his cigarette. 

Gladio stares back at him. 

Looking Noctis full in the face has always been intense. It’s one of his favorite things about sparring with Noctis; cornering him into eye contact, earning the apathetic prince’s full attention, demanding action when he prefers to be passive, forcing him to make a move, lest the Prince get thrown on his ass. 

It’s different out here, in the cold air and the moonlight. Watching Noctis smoke, Gladio doesn’t want to force him into anything. 

He still longs for his attention, though. 

From the moment he realized how he felt about Noctis, Gladio knew it could not be. It would be a complication, a distraction. Regardless, Gladio is graced with a quiet peace for the knowledge that he is sworn to stay by his side, will never have to leave him. 

That will be enough. 

But Gladio’s battered heart is weak and he's been reading too many stories and he cannot help but imagine what might have been were they born to different fathers, to a different path. 

If it weren’t his  _ duty _ to love him, would he still want Noctis then? 

He thinks so. 

Noctis’ lids are cut low while he studies Gladio. He looks him over head to toe. He’s thinking about something. 

All Gladio can think about is his thin fingers, his blue eyes, the way his cigarette hangs from his lips. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading ^^
> 
> Chapter 4 will switch POV and pick up right where Chapter 3 leaves off


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter switches from Gladio's to Noctis' POV and begins right where the last chapter left off.

The worst part of everything is the feeling of betrayal that haunts Noctis continually. For weeks he endured congratulations on his engagement, something he never even wanted, the only consolation being that it was to Luna, someone he at least considered a friend, just to be witness to her murder in an elaborately staged massacre that his father could have prevented.

Like a sick joke, his father had slid the Ring of Lucii onto his wedding finger. Noctis looks down at it while he smokes. He is starting to get used to the burning, but the Ring never lets him forget it’s there. It makes his entire arm feel heavy.

Gladio has joined him on the patio, shutting the door. Noctis loves his narrow balcony and the way that when the door is shut he feels pinned to the side of the building, above Insomnia, apart from it. With Gladio’s large mass eating up square footage, it feels even smaller and for a moment, Noctis is able to pretend there is nothing in the world but sky.  

He had been anticipating bringing Luna home to this apartment. He was nervous she would want to leave it. And now Gladio is here instead, and he _won't_ leave It.

 _I'll stay by your side_ , he keeps saying.

Like a vow.

He looks at Gladio. He's no bride, but that was his father’s intention all along.

“Who won?” Gladio asks.

“In King’s Knight? Me, of course,” Noctis answers. It's a stupid question he knows the answer to, Gladio just wants to hear him talk. He doesn't really feel like talking, but Gladio smiles for just a moment and that makes it worth it. Gladio is playing it pretty cool, but Noctis knows he is immensely sad, and Noctis carries the burden of it being his fault.

Everyone in his orbit eventually gets hurt.

But Gladio has suffered the fallout of Noctis’ tragedy and he responds only with increased devotion. While Noctis has sulked and slept in his depression, Gladio has patiently waited. He guards his apartment like a watchdog, loyal and impressive.

Better than a bride, maybe.

He trusts Gladio. He trusts Gladio not to deceive him, he believes him when he says he will stay, and he trusts Gladio to be _flawed_ , like he is, to make mistakes. He knows that Gladio is hurting, but with some satisfaction, he thinks that Gladio has hurt him too. He twists his left wrist to feel the pain flare beneath his bandage. In a way it makes them even, like Noctis’ half-ass attempts at being a King are good enough for a Shield with sharp knife and a shaky hand.

Pulling on his cigarette, looking at his Shield, Noctis feels intense gratitude for his companionship.

After the first time, Gladio made no mention of his smoking. Noctis rewards the good behavior by letting Gladio join him whenever he does, not flinching away _too much_ from the intimacy of his gaze. Gladio seems to be seeking a connection with him. It’s understandable, he supposes, with everything they’ve been through. Noctis doesn’t want Gladio to feel alone right now, after losing so much. So he lets him look.

Quickly, Noctis has found himself looking forward to the next cigarette, so that he may sit beneath Gladio’s watchful eyes again. Or maybe it’s just nicotine withdrawal.

Whichever it is, he's vulnerable enough to easily become addicted.

Now that Noctis is looking back at him, it's difficult to stop. Gladio is wearing a tank top, his tattooed arms bulky and long and covered in goosebumps. He was working out before they came outside; Noctis bets he’s cold now. He glances away to tap his cigarette or study the horizon but he’s drawn back to him only a moment later, to map out the muscles in his arms, and chest, and neck. Gladio is absurdly, inhumanly strong but for as long as Noctis has known him, Gladio has always been unsatisfied with his strength and constantly seeking improvement.

And though he was unconscious for it, Noctis is suddenly struck with the vivid image of Gladio lifting him from the ground and setting him down in the Regalia the night they escaped.

Noctis meets his eyes, and Gladio is waiting for him. Never would Noctis anticipate someone offering more to see than an entire tenth story view, but here he is, choosing to gaze inward instead of outward, for once.

Gladio’s amber eyes skip down ever so slightly and Noctis can feel them land on his lips.

He’s finished his cigarette, but doesn’t feel ready for bed, too captured by Gladio’s gaze, too intrigued by the game of looking right back at him. The expression on Gladio’s face is one he’s never seen before. He’s looking at him like…

Almost like he’s _someone else._

He lights a second cigarette.

Gladio watches him smoke, he doesn’t talk. There are worst things, Noctis thinks, than being here with him.

The second cigarette makes him feel dizzy and lightheaded. He leans back in his chair, his head supported on the railing and looks at his Shield. He smokes deeply and they have been looking at each other for long enough now that Noctis has started to notice little things, like the way Gladio’s lips part slightly every time Noctis pulls the cigarette away from his mouth, or the way Gladio hugs one knee to his chest, stretching his sweatpants across his lap.

Slowly, Noctis stands. He tosses the stub.

Gladio lingers on the patio while Noctis crosses the living room. He looks at the couch. Watching Gladio do pushups in front of it earlier, Noctis had noticed that Gladio was, in fact, taller than the piece of furniture was long. Gladio might appreciate sleeping in a real bed.

Noctis enters his room. He leaves the door open.

It takes more than an hour, but eventually, after all the lights in the apartment have been shut off, Gladio comes to his door. For a few minutes, Noctis listens to the sound of him breathing as he stands outside the room, frozen in place. The open door was obviously intriguing enough, but he’s fed up with waiting.

“Come here,” Noctis says into the darkness.

Gladio pushes open the door. Noctis listens to him cross the room, stopping at the foot of his bed.

“Lie down,” he says.

Noctis know Gladio probably has some objections, but after only a moment of hesitation, he obeys. _Just like a dog,_ Noctis thinks, and it feels nice to have a little control in the wake of everything.

Peeling back the covers on the other side of the bed, Gladio settles his large body down onto the mattress. Noctis feels it dip beside him. It's incredibly relieving to have Gladio in the bed with him. He's been trapped in this bed for days, too exhausted to get out of it more than an hour at a time. He drifts in and out of terrible dreams, in and out of a terrible reality. The familiar sound of Gladio’s breathing eases him. He thinks about the way Gladio was staring at his lips on the balcony, his eyes distant with the desire to escape.

“You can kiss me,” Noctis says, eyes open to the dark.

And he does. Gladio slides over to him, coming to hover above Noctis, beneath the covers. Noctis can feel the pocket of air in the space between them. A big paw lays lightly on the side of his face, locating him beneath the shadows, and then he leans down and they connect, their mouths aligning softly, timidly. Their lips part slightly, slotting together.

Noctis sighs into his mouth and Gladio licks at his lips. When Noctis opens his mouth to him, Gladio lowers himself slowly until his considerable mass presses him down into the bed. He thought the second cigarette made him dizzy; he is unprepared for the way Gladio’s weight on top of him would make him feel tipsy and dazed.

“Careful with the arm,” Noctis says, a little breathless.

Gladio shifts for a moment, and then gently, tenderly, picks Noctis’ left arm up and lays it softly out of the way, above Noctis’ head.

When Gladio settles on top of him again Noctis can feel his hardness through his sweats. He presses his hips up into it curiously, and Gladio responds with a tentative roll of his hips. The sensation of Gladio’s clothed cock digging at him causes him Noctis to stiffen.  

“Touch me,” he says into their kiss.

Gladio reaches between them and slides his hand into Noctis’ pants. Noctis moans softly when Gladio’s palm wraps around him. They are no longer kissing, but their mouths are still pressed together while they breathe shallowly. It feels so good to be touched. Noctis wants Gladio to feel it too. He uses his good hand to tug Gladio’s cock from his pants, long and thick, and pets him with even strokes.

Gladio grunts, his whole body suddenly growing warm above Noctis in the bed.

They work each other, panting softly, occasionally pressing their hips toward the pleasure found in the other’s touch. Laying beneath Gladio’s beast-like frame, pinned down while he’s pleasured, Noctis is suffocating. Gladio is big enough to block out everything else, like their world consists of only the two of them. Pleasure and sensation cascade over him while they touch, and Noctis would gladly drown beneath the waves.

The Ring has been bothering him all day, but right now he can't feel anything except Gladio’s hand on his dick, his weight on his lungs, his mouth against his, Gladio’s cock in his fist. The injured arm lay numb above him, pulling him open, letting their chests press together every time Gladio leans down to kiss him again.

Suddenly, the pleasure is consuming and Noctis feels himself dissolve into the bedspread, pulled inside out by the hand in his sweatpants. He throws his head back and Gladio’s mouth lay lightly on his neck, pressing tender kisses beneath his jaw and over his throat.

Noctis cums without warning, a long moan drawn out into the silence of the apartment. He can feel Gladio’s cock twitch and as he resurfaces and he grips him firmly again where his hand had fallen slack.

He looks up at him again. Noctis wants so badly to touch Gladio’s face, but he cannot move his left arm, so he just stares up at him, into his eyes, the pupils wide with the darkness and his pleasure. His vision has adjusted to the lack of light and he can watch the change of expression in Gladio’s face as he pumps his cock. He holds himself up above Noctis, arms trembling slightly while his face shifts from blatant awe to tender submission to charged release.

Gladio drops his head and grunts into Noctis’ shoulder, cock pulsing as he spurts across the sheets.

“Noct…” he says in shuddering disbelief and the gravelly way he says his name threatens to make him hard again.

Noctis takes a deep breath as Gladio crawls off of him. His bodyguard sits up in the bed and looks at him for a moment, then down at his lap, then at the open bedroom door, then back at Noctis, then at the ground.

“Stay,” Noctis says, a little exasperated.

Gladio settles back down.

He looks at Gladio’s dim outline on the bed beside him. They face each other, saying nothing. Noctis can't help but think of the juxtaposition of he and Gladio tugging each other off beneath their sweatpants in his bed, when for so many weeks, Noctis had been struggling to imagine consummating his marriage to Luna here.

Despite everything, this is better, somehow. Rolling away from him, Noctis begins to cry.

Gladio scoots up behind him and his fingers land on Noct’s shoulder before slowly trailing down the length of his arm, locating the bandaged wrist and making sure he works around it as he slides his hand beneath his arm and around his middle. He gently pulls Noctis towards him, pressing his face into the back of his hair.

“This okay?” Gladio asks.

Noctis nods. It’s not just _okay,_ it’s good. He lets Gladio hold him until he cries himself to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning, Noctis takes a shower. 

Gladio lowers his book in surprise when he hears the water running. He had awoken with the sun and indulgently laid in bed beside Noctis watching him sleep for an hour, turning over and over in his head the shame of happiness in a time of turmoil, the anxiety of Noctis’ possible regret, the uncertainty of where to go from here. Noctis had looked peaceful, at least, belly down in the bed, drool on the pillow. Gladio decided simply to do exactly what he was doing before _:_ stay by his side, follow his lead. On his way out of the room, he shut the still open door so that Noctis may continue to sleep.

Gladio had worked out, showered, and now he sits on the couch, his eyes skimming along the lines of his novel, but not really reading at all.

His phone vibrates.

_I'm ten minutes away with breakfast. Try to wake Noct if he isn't up._

_He's up,_ Gladio sends to Ignis. _Sys._

Upon entering the apartment, Ignis’ ears prick to the sound of water behind Noctis’ door. He raises his eyebrows to Gladio in a look of satisfaction.

Gladio helps Ignis unload a few bags of groceries, and then leans on the counter and watches Ignis as he prepares fresh-baked muffins, thick strips of bacon and cold glasses of fruit juice for breakfast. Ignis briefs Gladio on Prompto’s progress on the range, Cor’s research into Royal Tombs and the concerning construction of a Niflheim base on the outskirts of Hammerhead, so close to the Crown City. Gladio listens to him intently, appreciating the distraction, relieved that Ignis doesn't expect him to speak.

It's nerve-wracking to be around him after last night. Gladio feels like he has broken the rules. All morning his father’s voice has been in his head, chastising him for letting earthly desires get in the way of his honorable duty. He worries that he made a mistake by doing as Noctis said last night, kissing him, _more._

The water shuts off. A moment later, Noctis’ bedroom door swings open and the young King steps out in only a fluffy black towel. He leans into the apartment and sniffs the air, laden with the smell of baked goods, before turning to face Gladio and Ignis. His wet hair is pitch black and spiking wildly around him, his cheeks and chest and shoulders are pink from the heat. Gladio gives him one thorough look, eyes raking over his naked torso and lower, to where one hand lazily clutches the towel low around his hips. He has to turn away, busying himself with serving, hoping Ignis doesn't see the flush in his face.

“Good morning, Your Majesty.”

“Hey, Iggy,” Noctis says.

“While I am pleased that you finally addressed your hygiene, you were not supposed to get your bandage wet. Go put some clothes on and come back in here so I can change your dressings.”

Noctis retreats back to his room, but not before allowing Gladio to steal one more glance. Noctis gives him the most subtle smile and Gladio recognizes the impish look in his cobalt eyes. Noctis came out here undressed on purpose. _Brat._

Noctis returns to the kitchen in a black t-shirt and grey sweats. He flops down onto a stool, laying his torso on the island counter, his left arm extended out towards Ignis, his chin resting on his bicep. Ignis carefully cuts the soggy bandage off his arm, and Gladio gets the first look in several days of the wound he inflicted.

Thick white stitches criss-cross over the gash, pulling the two reluctant sides of his flesh together. The very ends of the nearly four-inch laceration look dry and purple with scab, but the center of the wound begins to ooze red as Ignis peels the gauze away.

Ignis tuts at the state of it. He hands Noctis a square of cotton and says “apply pressure” before disappearing into Noctis’ bedroom for additional supplies. Gladio’s heart thunks in his chest to watch Ignis disappear behind that fated door.

While they're alone, Noctis looks up at Gladio, blue eyes bright from the counter top. His right hand presses the square of now blood-soaked cotton against his wrist.

“Some Shield you are,” he says.

The words should sting, but they don't. Something in the way he delivers the statement, be it the mocking tone or the glint behind his eyes, tells Gladio that Noctis isn't angry at him, was never once angry at him for the wound. Still, Gladio knows it will scar spectacularly and he anticipates Noctis holding the incident over his head for the rest of his life.

He doesn't mind.

Noctis could say _anything_ to him and as long as he keeps looking at him with those blue eyes. As long as he keeps turning up the corner of his mouth when Gladio looks back, Gladio will listen.

Ignis is cleaning the wound and Noctis’ eyes travel back and forth between his wrist and Ignis’ face.

“It hurts,” Noctis tells him. “I shouldn't go anywhere today.”

Ignis doesn't look up at Noctis, doesn't pause the methodical swabbing of his sutures. He asks, “Why do you say that?”

“You came over and made breakfast because you want me to go to the Citadel today. I don't want to go.”

Ignis sighs.

“You have an appointment with the tailor fitting your Coronation dress at noon,” he admits. “Amongst other to-dos. I thought it would be a good test run, get you out of the apartment, test your strength.”

“Not today,” Noctis says. “Still hurts.”

Ignis looks at Noctis then, setting his wrist down gently after securing a new pressure bandage. Noctis still lay slumped on the counter, nonchalant and lazy.

“As you wish, Your Majesty.”

It shocks Gladio then, the sudden reminder that Noctis is the King now. He hasn't forgotten who Noctis is, but sometimes he forgets what it _means_ . This is Noctis’ Kingdom; It doesn't matter what their fathers’ would have said. Gladio didn't break any rules. Noctis _makes_ the rules. He's the most powerful man in Lucis, in title, in legacy, in combat. And last night, Gladio slept in his bed. _Woof._

He has to busy his hands.

Gladio serves breakfast. Ignis joins them for once, chewing thoughtfully, studying Noctis. Gladio has also been studying Noctis intently since the young King woke up five days ago, and he feels like he’s been seeing steady improvement to his mood. Gladio wonders what Ignis sees.

Noctis eats well. He had been crying when he finally drifted asleep last night and Gladio is overjoyed to see him wake up in a good mood. Unfortunately, it does not last. Gladio can tell Ignis tries his best not to upset Noctis, but there are “crucial matters to discuss.”

Noctis started breakfast by making eye contact, occasionally showing his sneer of a smile, twice bumping his socked foot into Gladio’s beneath the table.

By the end of breakfast, Noctis has agreed to go to the Citadel tomorrow for crowning planning and a strategical briefing with Cor, but he stares down at his plate, quiet and still. Gladio feels uneasy himself at the news of the plans, still unready to face the pity on the faces of his colleagues, not prepared to run into the ghosts of his sister and father in every Palace hall.

“We have delayed long enough. Tomorrow, we will finalize details for the wake. On Friday we will honor those who gave their lives so you may prosper. It will be the first time many people see that you're alive and well. The Coronation must soon follow.”

“Alive and well,” Noctis repeats to himself.

Gladio finds himself feeling suddenly and viciously protective, and he has to bite his tongue to keep himself from telling Ignis to leave. Ignis isn't the enemy, he knows, but he still wants to lock the door to Noctis’ apartment and bark at anyone who tries to enter.

Noctis retreats to his bedroom while Gladio helps Ignis clean up. When Ignis is gone, Gladio approaches Noctis’ door and knocks softly.

Noctis opens up, looking at him in mild surprise. Gladio’s eyes immediately zero in on his bed, the covers disturbed from his napping, and feels an intense urge to lay down in it and roll around, to mask himself in Noctis’ scent. Noctis looks up at him, soft and smelling like soap and Gladio has to remind himself not to touch him without permission.

He nods his head towards the balcony. “He's gone.”

Noctis turns around and grabs his smokes from the bedside table. Rattling the box as he squeezes past Gladio in the doorway, he mournfully says, “Last one.”

Gladio closes his bedroom door and follows him outside. Shutting the glass, he comes to lean on the guardrail next to Noctis. He is picking at the edges of his bandage, the last cigarette pinched unlit between his lips.

“Is it bad?”

Noctis shakes his head, bringing his hands to cup around the cigarette so he may light it.

“Nah,” he says, blowing smoke into the sky. “Doesn't hurt at all, unless I touch it. I just didn't want to go.”

Gladio chuckles and Noctis flashes him a wicked little grin before they both look sharply away, out at the city, admonished by the guilt that still follows any brief instances of happiness. He scans the horizon, across endless miles of grey buildings extending in the distance. Insomnia is sprawling and crowded, intricately covered in stacked grey architecture that, from here, almost seems to turn into a vast and endless sea. Hundreds of thousands of families. One wall protecting them.

And Noctis, at the center.

“Who would you be?” Gladio suddenly asks, turning to face him. “If you weren’t the King?”

“A fisherman,” He answers instantly, smiling at the view. “I’d live on a boat.”

Gladio watches him smoke, watches his fingers raise and lower from his mouth while he does, watches the smooth white smoke tumble over his lips. He’s already starting to like the smell.

Noctis faces him now, the cigarette hovering in front of his mouth, slotted between lazy fingers. He leans on the rail and Gladio watches as Noctis looks him up and down.

“What about you, Shield?”  

“I’d hunt for gil,” Gladio says. He knows the answer, he's thought about it before. “Give me a tent and I can live off the land.”

Noctis smiles around his cigarette.

“Sucks, doesn't it?” he asks when he exhales.

“Yeah,” Gladio agrees, but looking back Noctis, who is clean, and who is communicating, and who has smiled at Gladio more times this morning than he has in a week, looking at Noctis he has to add, “Sometimes.”

Noctis turns away from him, hiding his face.

After a moment, he asks, “how are you feeling?”

Not only is Gladio shocked to hear Noctis ask a question about the well-being of another person, but the vague delivery makes Gladio think he’s referring to last night and those feelings are complex and difficult to put to words right now, so all he can respond with is “what?”

“About tomorrow. Going to the Palace. Leaving the den.”

Gladio grunts. He's not looking forward to it, but he’ll get by, for Noctis’ sake.

“I'll stay by your side,” he says.

“I know _,”_ Noctis replies. “I know.”

Conversation dies off. Noctis leans slumped over the rail, much like he was in the kitchen earlier. He stares at the Ring. He looks exhausted.

Noctis doesn't speak to him or look at him for the rest of his cigarette. Gladio would be more concerned, but he's quieted by the way Noctis leans into his personal space, his elbow occasionally brushing Gladio’s, his hips swung in his direction. Gladio watches him smoke, admiring his thin fingers on the cigarette, recalling vividly how that little hand had gripped him so surely in the darkness, brought him ashore.

When Noctis stands up and tosses the used end off the balcony, he sighs and says, “it was fun while it lasted.”

He retreats to his bed for another nap. The door shuts with a ‘click.’ Gladio does another round of push-ups and sits down to read, ears pricked.

Time passes slowly today.

The afternoon comes and goes. Ignis does not show up for lunch, which Gladio supposes makes sense, having already provided them one meal, but something feels ominous about the long stretch of silent hours in the middle of his day. Gladio cannot focus on his books, suddenly finding the fiction within them lacking _something_ that he frustratingly cannot pinpoint. He does sit-ups and squats and push-ups until he thinks he’ll puke, and then he does fifty more of each. He’d gotten used to entertaining himself in the lonely hours while Noctis slept, but today feels different. He’s on edge.

Noctis emerges only once. He walks into the kitchen and stares into the fridge for a moment before shutting it. He drags his feet to the pantry and settles on a box of crackers. He looks ragged and drained. He retreats to his bedroom once more without sparing Gladio a glance.

Gladio is concerned, of course. The state of him now is so different from how he started the morning, but if Noctis is eating he must not feel too terrible. Just stressed about tomorrow, defaulting to exhaustion like he normally does when he’s overwhelmed. Noctis doesn’t seem to want to talk about it, but Gladio feels like it would be better, somehow, if he were allowed to lay in his bed. He wouldn’t say anything, he could just lay there and protect him while he sleeps.

But the door is shut. And so Gladio waits.

He practically leaps off of the couch in excitement when Prompto arrives, having begun to chew at his fingernails in anxious boredom.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says when he walks in, lugging a hamper of clean, folded laundry and two labeled garment bags Ignis had obviously burdened him delivering. “Things are crazy at the Citadel. I don’t know if something happened or what, but it was a good day for the Prince to cancel his plans.”

Gladio’s eyes slide curiously towards Noctis’ bedroom door.

“The _King,_ ” Prompto corrects a moment later, his eyes going wide. “So weird.”

“Weird,” Gladio agrees, lifting the hamper away from a struggling Prompto.

Prompto sets a few other things down on the counter: a few boxes of stovetop macaroni, a manilla folder labeled CONFIDENTIAL, a bottle of ibuprofen. Something _must_ have happened, for Ignis to send Prompto so heavily laden. He makes a face at the garment bags that Prompto hangs by the door. They must be clothes for the Palace tomorrow, Gladio hadn't thought once about the fact that all he had here were sweats.

“Prompto,” Gladio says, fetching his wallet from a drawer in the kitchen. “Before you go see Noct... he finished the pack. Go get the King another.”

“Uhh… yes. Yes sir!” Prompto nods, quickly over the surprise. “Do you need anything?”

He shakes his head no, unfolding notes into Prompto’s hand.

While he is gone, Gladio stares at the manilla folder, but he does not touch it. The sound of Noctis’ door opening makes Gladio’s heart jump and he turns around to face him. He peers around the door to the kitchen from the hall, his ashy hair wild from sleep, jutting in every direction from his head like a crown.

“Where’s Prompto?” Noctis asks, his eyes surveying the room.

“He, uh, forgot something,” Gladio answers. “He’ll be right back.”

“Sure,” Noctis says, creeping out into the kitchen. He grabs the bottle of ibuprofen and the folder, tucking them under his arm. “Mac and cheese for dinner? Cool, I’m down.”

He returns to his room. The door remains open. Prompto returns a minute later, slapping Gladio weakly on the back and flashing the pack of cigarettes in his hand at him before disappearing into Noct’s room. He shuts the door.

They speak quietly for twenty minutes, their voices a familiar murmur through the walls, one Gladio has listened to for years.

Needing a distraction, he picks up a box of mac and cheese. He peels the instructions off the front, balling the note up in his hand, not sure if he’s more offended that Ignis rewrote instructions there were already on the box or that the instructions were addressed _Gladiolus:_

He hears the sound of their phones as they crank the volume and power up the game.

He makes the mac and cheese and only burns the bottom a little, suddenly angry at Ignis for it even though he knows his irritability is misplaced. It’s just that he can’t ignore the pit of jealousy he feels for Noctis being alone in there with Prompto, with the door shut. And it’s not like _that,_ it’s not like he thinks anything is happening, he just wishes _he_ were in Noctis’ room with the door shut.

It’s been a long day of loneliness.

After experiencing how the simple act of wrapping his arms around him could blot out his haunting trauma, Gladio frets over the chance of it never happening again. The selfishness behind the fear makes Gladio disappointed in himself. He carefully scrapes burnt macaroni into three bowls and even though he is standing here in Noctis’ kitchen, a place he has spent countless hours, Gladio doesn’t recognize his life anymore. He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, taking a deep shuddering breath, trying to refuse the images that consume him once more, of his sister’s death and his father’s corpse.

He stares out the wide windows at the city skyline, the setting sun. He glances at the clock on the microwave.

“Dinner,” he calls out.

They eat on the sofa. Prompto shows them funny videos online he specifically saved for them, but Gladio cannot pay any attention because Noctis has folded his legs under himself while he eats, and he’s tucked his toes beneath Gladio’s thigh. The place where they connect burns into Gladio like Noctis is touching him with hot metal instead of socked feet. And it is so relieving to be touched by Noctis again that Gladio shifts his thigh to cover more of his feet and Noct wiggles his toes contentedly beneath him when he does. The couch dips beneath their body weight, threatening to lean Noctis against him and eventually, Noctis repositions himself so that he _is_ leaning on Gladio, his back against Gladio’s shoulder and bicep, his eyes locked on the television screen. Relief blankets Gladio, and he hardly realizes he’s doing it when he wraps his arm around Noctis’s middle and lays his hand on his hip.

When Prompto is finished eating, he stands to leave, smiles and waves good-bye, and says he’ll see them at the Palace tomorrow. He looks right at Gladio and Noctis sitting on the couch and behaves as if nothing is amiss. Gladio feels an immediate swell of affection for Prompto, suddenly grateful for his loyalty and friendship to the King.

“Come on,” Noctis says once the front door has shut. “Let’s go smoke.”

He crawls off of the sofa and the absence of his body against him makes Gladio jump to his feet to follow.

On the balcony, Noctis peels the plastic off the new pack and puts a cigarette between his lips before offering the open box to Gladio.

He shakes his head. “No thanks, I like to watch.”

Noctis chuckles, pocketing the pack and lighting his cigarette.

“Oh, I know you do,” he answers coyly, blowing smoke into the air between them. Gladio watches it dissipate, once again revealing Noctis’ face, and the slightly smug expression there. Gladio used to wipe the floor with Noctis whenever he’d give him that look, but now his flickering blue eyes and arrogant smirk don’t make Gladio want to fight him, they make him want to _fuck_ him.

He blames the way Noctis rolls the cigarette lightly between his fingertips, the way his lips wrap around it when he sucks, the way he locks eyes with Gladio as he lets the smoke spill from his mouth, the way the smell of it makes Gladio’s blood shift route. Although he recognizes it was a moment of weakness that caused him to send Prompto out on the errand, he doesn’t regret buying Noctis the second pack.

Desperate to change the subject and reel in his spiraling arousal, Gladio impulsively asks the question that has been on the tip of his tongue.

“Are you feeling alright today?”

Noctis narrows his eyes at him for a moment, and then turns back out to face the night sky.

“Yeah, why?” he asks.

Gladio thinks about the manila folder, Noctis’ lethargy, Ignis’ unnecessary note on the box of mac and cheese. He thinks about Noctis in the morning, talking his way out of appointments, slumped over the guardrail while he smoked, staring at the Ring. He looks at the sky, disorientingly dark for this time in the evening. He thinks about Noctis fishing on a boat, standing in the middle of the sea.

“I was just tired today,” Noctis says, even though Gladio doesn’t elaborate.

Gladio can tell Noctis is keeping something from him, but he decides not to push it. The promise of the Palace tomorrow hangs in the air like a threat, and for now, Gladio wants to pretend it will not come. Noctis has turned his chair to face Gladio’s on the balcony, and the other man’s knees occupy the space between his own. He has been missing Noctis all day and just being close to him is more than enough, so conversation fades and instead they sit on the balcony in silence. Gladio watches him smoke. Noctis leans back beneath his unwavering gaze, drawing deeply on his cigarette. When his hand isn’t by his mouth, he touches his stomach and his hips through his clothes, the gently smoking cigarette still held between his fingers when his hand sinks lower, to palm aimlessly at his crotch.

Noctis slides his eyes over to meet Gladio’s while he does. Gladio swallows. He’s under the impression Noctis hasn’t had much experience, but he seems to be going after Gladio’s attention already. It shocks Gladio that Noctis is being so forthright with it. All day Noctis has been sending him silent signals of confirmation that last night was good and that perhaps they’d indulge in it again, but Gladio didn't expect much out of the injured King or his own consuming sadness.

Just putting his arm around him on the couch had been enough, would always be enough, but Noctis keeps holding onto his eyes and rubbing his dick and sucking on that _damn_ cigarette. In an attempt to slow down the beating of his heart, Gladio rips his eyes away from Noctis. He stares up at the moon’s impartial face and feels transparent beneath its gaze.

 _Is it okay?_ he wonders, _to want this so soon after so much loss?_

Doesn't matter, he decides, he's long gone.

Looking back at Noctis, it’s clear he wants it too.

Need crashes over Gladio and all he can do is sit up in his chair and stare wide-eyed at Noctis while he finishes his cigarette. As the King’s sworn servant, he knows must not touch Noctis first. He must follow Noctis’ lead. His muscles ache against the effort of staying in his seat. With each puff, Gladio’s cock throbs harder and Noctis steadily loses the ability to conceal his smirk.  Finally, he tosses the the cigarette off the ledge and Gladio twitches in his seat like he’s the one falling.

“Come here,” he says, a little sardonically, and Gladio never thought _he’d_ be the one flustered and frozen in place by arousal. Noctis reaches down and takes his hand, pulling him to his feet until he is once more towering over the young King.

Noctis looks up at him for a moment, and then pushes up on his toes and kisses him.

Gladio decides it's good, if this is how they choose to comfort each other. He's been putting emphasis on trying to get Noctis to talk, but he's not even sure what he expects him to say. Every time their eyes connect for long enough, Gladio feels like they're seeing right into each other, that they somehow are feeling the exact same thing, a feeling of indescribable loss and smothering duty and something _more,_ like an answer to the bewilderment of it all they have yet to find.

What is there to say after everything they've been through?

Gladio wraps his hands around Noctis’ waist, walking him back against the guardrail. They kiss and they kiss and they kiss, Noctis’ injured arm draped over Gladio’s shoulder, his fingers skating so lightly along the back of his neck. His right hand fists into the front of Gladio’s sweatshirt while Gladio leans him back over the railing. He wraps his arms around Noctis’ back and kisses him deeply until he can no longer taste the cigarette and only tastes his own tongue, slipping it behind his teeth and stroking it inside of Noctis’ mouth until he is breathing shallowly back into his. Their hips are together, not moving but pressed snug, their erections hard and soft where they meet through the layers of their sweats. The longer he kisses him, the less Noctis supports his own weight, letting Gladio hold him up. Nothing makes him want to protect Noctis more than feeling his small body pressed against his.

Amongst all the sadness, there is peace in that purpose. To Shield this King is all he has left in this cruel world. He breaks the kiss to look down at Noctis, who is breathless in the moonlight and he sees him again as he did on that horrible night, holding his father’s sword and running headfirst into battle as a man and a King, throwing blue light across the night, that terrible fated night, where he knelt exhausted over Noctis’ slowly draining body, apologizing with every potion that made him writhe in pain, that tragic and somehow terrific night where their destinies were set irreversibly in motion, and their previous lives ripped away in exchange for their collision into one another.  

“I love you.”

He says it before he can stop himself and he immediately knows he should not have, but there are a few seconds, before Noctis’ eyes cut away from him to study the floor, a single moment where Noctis stares up at him, his blue eyes glowing with awe in the pale moon of his soft face, and that will be enough, will always be enough, even if he never says it back.

“Come on,” Noctis says. “I’m exhausted. Let’s go to bed.”

Noctis does look exhausted, dragging his feet as he walks slowly to the bedroom. When he stops to toe out of his slippers at his bedroom door, he yawns greatly, peering at Gladio through one eye. Gladio hesitates near the couch. Noctis hadn’t expressly said they’d go to bed _together,_ and after his outburst on the balcony, Gladio doesn’t want to make any assumptions.

“Gladio,” he says, before he’s finished yawning. “I was inviting you to _my_ bed.”

Gladio meets Noctis at the doorway and stops in front of him. Noctis looks tired and Gladio desperately wants to carry his burden for him tonight, so when the smaller man leans up to kiss him again, slinking his arms around Gladio’s neck, the bodyguard cannot help himself. He lifts him from the floor, and Noctis gasps. Gladio carries him to the bed and sets him gently onto the unmade bedspread. Noctis is glaring at him, but both of them are smiling softly as Gladio settles on top of him.

“Don’t do that again,” Noctis says.

“No promises.”

“You can’t follow some rules and ignore others,” Noctis tells him, dragging his hand through Gladio’s hair, gently scratching at his scalp in a way that makes Gladio’s entire body melt on top of him.

“Maybe you should write ‘em down so I can learn ‘em, Majesty,” Gladio says into Noctis’ neck where he’s currently taking in his scent, the musky smell of his cigarette, the fainter smell of soap from his morning shower.

“Rule number one,” Noctis says, gently stroking his head. “No _Majesty_.”

“Got it,” Gladio says into his neck. He pulls back to look down at him then and says, “Noct _.”_

Gladio can’t help but notice the irony. WIth Noctis, he used to be the one making the rules. A lot has changed since they were boys and Gladio falls still, looking down at him, trying to see the complicated path that took Noctis from petulant student to trusted friend, from his main source of irritation to the only source of comfort and purpose in his darkest days, from _Prince_ to _King_ , like the chapters in a book Gladio that loves so much, he never wants to reach the end.

Noctis kisses him.  

Gladio presses him into the bed, their mouths instantly open against each one another’s, arousal returning quickly as their hips bump and slide together. Noctis seems to get overwhelmed easily and it doesn’t take long before he is panting, his small body is arching off the bed beneath him, reaching his hips up into the pleasure Gladio’s rutting provides and Gladio wants to give him everything he wants. Last night, Noctis had requested it, so he doesn’t want to touch him without permission. Gladio breaks the kiss.

“Can I make you cum?”

Noctis nods up at him, mouth open.

Gladio kneels over him, one of his thighs between Noctis’, while one hand pushes his shirt up to his chest, the other hand tugging his sweats down at the same time, exposing him, peeling him open. Gladio looks down at Noctis. The room is dim, but they forgot to switch off a lamp in the apartment somewhere and it gives Gladio enough light to appreciate the milky white span of his stomach, his sharp hipbones, his hard dick. Noctis gasps when Gladio kisses his stomach and he kisses a slow trail lower, giving Noctis a chance to protest if the act makes him uncomfortable, but he doesn’t, and Gladio kisses his hip bones, the taught skin between them, and the soft black hair that grows there, not letting his own inexperience in this particular arrangement give him any pause. Ever since he held Noctis in his palm last night, he knew he wanted him in his mouth.

He kisses his cock.

“Fuuck,” Noctis says from above him.

Gladio takes Noctis into his mouth. Certainly by comparison, the King is small, and it’s easy to engulf him in a way that makes Noctis moan raggedly, hips jerking up into the wet heat, his hard flesh bumping into Gladio’s tongue and the roof of his mouth. Gladio takes a few moments to familiarize himself with the salty taste of his arousal, before hollowing his cheeks out and sucking on him. Noctis’ right hand cinches tight in his hair. 

“Six!” He gasps.

It becomes apparent as Gladio sucks him that his suspicions were right, Noctis has had little to no experience and he is already quaking beneath Gladio’s technique. The thought makes Gladio smile selfishly, and he has to pull off of his dick, unable to keep his lips wrapped around him. Noctis is looking down at him in awe and so Gladio drags his broad tongue up the underside of Noctis’ shaft.

“Gladio…” he says, his voice deep and rich with the urgent shock of approaching climax.

He licks him with a firm, flat tongue. His hands on the bed on either side of Noctis, supporting his body weight as he leans low over him and laps at him, steady and deliberate. Noctis’ hips lift off the bed slightly, pressing his cock into Gladio’s tongue deliciously. Noctis is groaning softly to himself and, licking him like this, Gladio can easily watch when he throws his head back into the pillows and explodes.

Noctis shoots across his bare stomach, his body seeming to go even limper in the bed than he was already. And because Gladio doesn’t want the exhausted King to have to get out of bed to clean himself, and because Gladio actually _enjoyed_ the way Noctis’ cock felt on his tongue and he doesn’t want to stop licking him now, and because his own cock hangs heavy and dripping in his sweatpants, driving his thoughts and telling him what to do, Gladio licks up Noctis’ quivering midsection and methodically laps away the remains of his pleasure.

Noctis is just lying still beneath him, sighing deeply, repeatedly. The contented sounds he makes encourage Gladio to continue, to try and relieve Noctis of whatever had been bothering him and keeping him in bed today, keeping him locked away. Gladio licks away all of his salty release, not minding the taste all that much, until he can taste only Noct’s skin, still clean and kind of sweet in a way he didn’t expect.

Gladio licks every inch of his stomach and higher, over his chest, finding another few drops of Noctis’ release there and licking them away before lapping his tongue over both small pink nipples. Noctis writhes weakly beneath him, breathing deeply, eyes shut.

Gladio pushes Noctis’ shirt as far up he can so that he may lick over his collarbone, into the dip at the bottom of his throat, up the sides of his neck when Noctis murmurs to him.

“Touch yourself while you do that,” and then “don’t miss anything.”

Gladio decides to take him literally.

Eagerly he moves to pulls his cock out, and he strokes himself fully, desperately aroused. Working around Noctis’ t-shirt, he licks over his shoulder and down his bicep, and he notes that they are still corded in lean muscle despite not having lifted a sword in a week. He licks the inside of his of his elbow and Noctis’ arm tenses, his fingers coming up to drag through the front of his sweatshirt. He tugs it.

“Take this off.”

Gladio sits up obediently and tugs his sweatshirt over his head. When he returns to continue his dampening of Noctis’ arm, the King’s fingers trail lightly across the bare skin of his neck and chest. It feels good to touch himself and something about the flavor of Noctis’ skin makes it even better, so subtle a taste that he finds himself licking the same spots again and again in an attempt to chase it. He licks inside of his palm, Noctis’ fingers curling lazily about his chin and scratching through his unshaven jaw, and then he takes each finger individually into his mouth and sucks off the flavor of tobacco, his cock achingly hard in his hand.  

As he moves to Noctis’ other arm, he can see the King lay with his eyes open, staring up at the ceiling. Gladio is gentle as he works his way down from the shoulder on his injured arm. It may be his imagination, but his left arm feels warmer the closer he gets to his wrist. He skips the bandage, but places a gentle kiss over the sight of the gash. Noctis chuckles weakly from above him. He sucks on each finger on his left hand, saving his ring finger for last. When Gladio kisses the Ring of Lucii, he gasps, pulling away as a burn blossoms over his lips. Still faded from his climax, Noctis doesn’t react and Gladio is left for a moment staring down at the Ring in surprise. It shocks him back into the reality of who he is and what he is doing, to their roles in the line of Lucis, to their lives, intertwined.

He’s never done anything like this before, and he knows it’s strange, but he doesn’t really care; Noctis lay so still on the bed, looking peaceful and at ease and Gladio knows it will be so rare that he is. He wants to keep him this way as long as he can and he wants to commit his flavor to memory and he wants to put himself on all of Noctis in a way no one else ever would. He crawls to the foot of the bed and licks the bottom of both of his feet before pushing his sweatpants up to his knees.

Noctis gasps slightly then, sitting up just enough in the bed to peer down at Gladio. When the blue eyes land on him Noctis’ ankle is still in his hand, the bottom of his small foot turned up. Gladio’s face burns red, his hand falling still on his cock where had been pumping himself.

“It’s alright,” Noctis says after a moment.

Gladio lowers his mouth once more and begins dragging his tongue over Noctis’ ankle and up his leg. Noctis is up on his elbows, watching him and Gladio finds that it feels even better to stroke his cock now that he’s a little embarrassed, like he’s showing Noctis a version of himself that no one has ever seen before, a version he can own, something he can keep.

The hair on Noctis’ calves feels good on his tongue.

When he’s covered him from ankle to knee on both legs, Gladio crawls over him and pulls his sweatpants down. He can still feel Noctis’ eyes on him, on his face, making it hot. He’s panting a little and has to ease up on the way he’s working himself, unwilling to cum before he’s finished. He begins where he left off, starting at his knees and licking long swipes up his thighs. Gladio can feel Noctis lay back in the bed and sigh.

His thighs are his favorite part to lick so far, he decides. When he licks along the outside, up to his hip bones, his thighs are smooth and soft and when Gladio licks along the insides, they go firm and trembling beneath his tongue. He licks him all the way up to where Noctis’ scent in the strongest, the velvety skin around his shaft and balls.

Noctis is hard again, Gladio discovers, and he fists himself desperately, his stamina wearing thin. He takes Noctis into his mouth, into his throat.

“Yeah,” Noctis groans.

At the sound of his voice, Gladio moans around his dick. He only has to bob his head a few times before Noctis climaxes a second time, releasing on the back of Gladio’s tongue. The feeling of it sliding down his throat, and the knowledge of everything they’ve done tonight sends a lewd sort of excitement to Gladio’s cock. He pulls off of Noctis, letting his open mouth lay over his softening flesh while he pumps himself hard and fast, not caring that the position is intimate, not caring what he must look like on his knees like this. When Noctis’ hand lands on the back his head, Gladio groans, sparing him a glance as he approaches his edge.

The King’s eyes are shut, but his fingers carding through his hair when he says, “Gladio, cum.”

Gladio explodes, shouting brokenly into Noctis’ lap. He lay there panting for several seconds and then he crawls up to Noctis’ face and licks lazily up his cheek.

“Gross,” Noctis moans.

He is asleep before Gladio catches his breath.

Gladio fixes his clothes and as he covers him with a blanket, his eye zeroing in on the confidential report Ignis had sent, open and face-down on the bedside table. It will be several more hours before he falls asleep himself, the cloud of arousal dissipating to leave him with significant worry regarding the impending sunrise.

He frets over tomorrow, he paces the apartment, he does fifty pushups, he takes a shower, he stands on the balcony and looks at Insomnia below.

Eventually, he returns to Noctis’ bed and curls up beside him. In his sleep, Noctis reaches his hand towards Gladio and rests it on his arm, and for the hundredth time in the past two days Gladio finds himself thinking that no matter what happens to the Kingdom, to _them_ , this moment right here is enough, will always be enough for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading ^^


	6. Chapter 6

Gladio wakes Noctis up in the morning with a kiss on the cheek. He cracks his eyes open just slightly and looks at him. He pined after Gladio for years, and never did he imagine the brute would be so _soft._

 _Soft_ isn’t the word, Noctis thinks, slowly sitting up in bed, taking the cup of sweetened coffee he offers. _Adoring_ , maybe.

When Noctis had told Prompto yesterday that it finally happened, Prompto had said “well yeah, years in the making, bro. I've seen the way he looks at you” and Noctis keeps chewing on the information.

Gladio sits on the side of his bed, in his boxers and his tank top, his hair still messy from sleep and damp with his morning exercise, looking exactly how Noctis always imagined he would. And all he wants to do is slowly drink his coffee and appreciate Gladio’s bare legs and slightly sweaty arms, but Gladio speaks, reminding him of the demon he sold his soul to in exchange for this.

“Citadel today. Ignis will be here in half an hour to pick us up.”

Gladio retreats to the guest bathroom to take a shower. As he leaves the room, Noctis notices the healing sores on the back of both of his heels. It’s been just over a week since the attack. Faint bruises left behind by shrapnel and bullet casings still litter their bodies, his wrist still bleeds, his finger still burns, especially after yesterday. He looks down at the Ring, at the skin marred and purple beneath it.

He can hear Ignis in his head when he thinks _we’ve delayed long enough._ That was all the recovery they're gonna get.

He shuffles into the kitchen with his coffee, mulling over Gladio’s decision to shower in the small guest bathroom rather than his own, much larger shower. His Shield is demonstrating an intriguing mixture of polite caution and reckless abandon, one version of him tip toeing around his apartment, the other version admitting that he loves him and licking him head to toe.

He supposes he should shower too.

He grabs the garment bag labeled _Noctis L.C._ and woefully drags it to his room.

They meet in the kitchen twenty minutes later. Noctis in a pair of dark wash jeans, a white button up and a dark grey blazer, Gladio is clad in a Glaive’s uniform, nearly identical to the one he wore to the wedding, only slightly less formal. Noctis cringes.

“You look nice,” he says.

Gladio laughs because he knows he’s full of shit.

They eat bowls of cereal stiffly, standing in the kitchen, saying nothing. Gladio takes his bowl from him when he finishes and sets it in the sink. Noctis nervously eyes the clock. He wishes he had time for a smoke.

“I’ll stay by your side,” Gladio tells him, coming back to lean on the counter beside him.

  
“Gladio, I _know,”_ Noctis sighs. “It’s still gonna be shitty.”

“I know,” Gladio sighs.

Both of their phones buzz across the counter. _We’re in the garage._

The Regalia smells like new, pints of his misplaced blood long scrubbed from the upholstery. Noctis sits in the back, in the same seat he always sits in and watches Gladio as his Shield pointedly stares out the window, away from the empty middle seat, where his sister once sat.

Noctis isn't sure what he was expecting, but it almost feels like nothing as the car rolls onto Citadel property. It’s not like he’s stunned by his father’s absence; he never saw him anyway. People bustle around the walkways as usual, busy managing things Noctis knows nothing about, each in their own little worlds, paying the Regalia no mind at all.

Until they’re not. Ignis parks the Regalia in its typical spot at the twelve o’clock in the Palace round. Noctis doesn’t have to look at them, he can _feel_ them as the various crown citizens around stop and turn their heads in his direction. Steeling himself, Noctis climbs out of the car. He gazes out at the Palace yard and watches as one-by-one, people realize who he is and fall to their knees in respect.  

He looks sharply away from them, afraid he may puke on the marble.

“Let’s get this over with,” he says.

Ignis, Gladio and Prompto rush to follow him up the stairs.

They meet Cor in a conference room. He bows his head, puts his hand out to Noctis and says, “it’s a relief to see you well, Your Majesty.”

Noctis won’t shake his hand.

They sit down at the long heavy table, the five men only occupying one small end of it. Cor and Ignis sit on one side, Prompto and Gladio flank him on the other.

“Welcome, Crownsguard. As the men sworn to protect King Noctis of the Stone, first things first,” Cor begins. “Soon will be a time of war.”

Prompto fidgets beside him. Ignis tugs at his gloves. Gladio is still. To be ambushed with all of their discomfort at once makes Noctis’ stomach lurch.

“Niflheim has made their intentions to enter the Crown City clear. They are urgently building bases on our borders,” Cor says.

“Additionally,” Ignis says. “Every night for a week the sun has set ten minutes earlier. The increased darkness brings more daemons. We are inclined to believe the phenomena is related to Niflheim’s approach.”

“And approach they do,” Cor continues, “Yesterday, a party of Teks tried to scale the wall and, we assume, scout the town below in preparation for an assault.”

Noctis stares down at stacks of paper on the table, ignoring the way Gladio and Ignis’ eyes bore into him, feeling increasingly agitating where he sits.

“Thanks to King Noctis’ endurance beneath the Ring, the attackers made no progress, and were driven back shortly after their attempt--”

Gladio’s hand finds his thigh beneath the table, and Noctis steals a glance at him. His Shield stares straight ahead, listening to Cor, but Noctis watches him tongue at the blister on his lip.

“--but we should still be very concerned. Intel believes the attack was launched from a Niflheim base very recently constructed just outside of Hammerhead. One failed attempt will not keep them from making another. Intel warns to expect another within the week.”

“What else has Intel warned you about lately, Cor?” Noctis asks bitterly. He hears Prompto suck in a breath beside him. Gladio’s hand falls away from his thigh.

“Noctis,” Ignis chastises.

Cor shakes it off.

“It is essential that we move forward from our tragedy and show Niflheim that Insomnia does not sleep. We will honor the legacies of those we have lost tomorrow night. It will be the first time the media is offered confirmation to the rumors that Noctis is alive. The Coronation will follow two days later.”

Noctis picks at his bandage.

“Niflheim wants the Crystal,” Ignis says, his eyes leveled on Noctis like he’s speaking to him alone. “They currently, _wrongly_ , assume the Crystal is not being utilized, but after twelve troopers liquified upon trying to scale it yesterday, word is going to spread quickly. They’re going to become more desperate in their attempts to plunder it, take more deliberate action.

“Noctis,” his adviser says, serious. “Did you choose to stay home yesterday because you knew this was going to happen?”

Noctis shrugs.

“How did you know?” Ignis demands.

“I just knew,” Noctis answers, exasperated. “I just kinda… felt it.”

“How did you kill those troopers, Noctis?”

“I don’t know.”

“We do,” Cor says. “The wall reached one-thousand degrees celsius in just the twenty-foot section the attack was launched.”

“Whoa…” Prompto says. Gladio turns in his seat to face him. Noctis shrinks beneath their astonishment.  

“How did you know where to focus the Ring’s energy?” Ignis asks.

Noctis shrugs again.

“Were you aware such a retaliation would work?” Cor asks.

“I don’t know!” Noctis finally shouts, standing up from the table so quickly he knocks the ornate wooden chair he had been sitting in to the ground. He doesn’t know what Cor and Ignis are expecting to hear; he doesn’t know anything, no one has told him _anything._ His father left him with a job he didn’t want and a Ring he didn’t know how to use and he is deeply hurt and utterly unprepared.

“I just could feel it! It made me angry,” he spews. “I thought about how angry it made me, and then they were dead. That’s all I know. I’m done with this.”

As he stalks from the room, Noctis hears Prompto say, “Princes will be Princes…”

Both Ignis and Gladio correct him.

“ _Kings.”_

He slams the door.

Noctis paces slowly through the halls of the Palace for over an hour. No one seems to be in a rush to collect him. He’s certain they have eyes on him in the Citadel anyway. He’s grateful for the time to cool off. He walks and it feels good to get a little exercise after a week in bed, although the Ring still pulls heavy on his arm and makes him breathe a little harder and reminds him of the times Gladio used to make him haul sandbags back and forth across the pitch.

He hates his father for the choices he made. He's always loathed his position within the line and and resented his father for withdrawing so sharply from him upon his mother’s death, which he supposes he understands a _little_ better, now that he wears the Ring, feels the way it saps his energy, somehow puts the wall in his chest, like a cage around his heart and lungs... still, he will never forgive him for Iris and Luna’s deaths, never forgive him for not _telling_ him this was going to happen, never forgiving him for taking the coward's way out…

…and then there’s Gladio, who denied Noctis the chance to do the same.

And even though he knows the Citadel corridors inside out, Noctis finds himself lost and walking in a daze, seeing nothing but his dress shoes, one foot in front of the other down the winding marble pathways. When he comes to, he’s surprised to find himself standing in the hallway to the training center, staring at the very door he and Gladio used to spend nearly every afternoon in before their roles in the nation were permanently rewritten.

While his dad had been sequestered away, it was Gladio that taught him to fight.

“Noct.”

Noctis spins around to face him. After a week of domesticity, Noctis hardly recognizes Gladio in his Glaive fatigues.

“Oh,” he says, his heart rate steadying, “it's you.”

“Try not to act too happy about it,” Gladio says and for a brief moment, things feel almost like they were _before,_ like they could disappear behind that door and become Prince and Mentor again, and Gladio could kick the crap out of him and tell him he’s still got a long way to go before he's the King.

“You didn't have to follow me,” Noctis sighs.

“I want to stay by your side,” Gladio tells him.

Noctis groans. “You're like a damn stray dog, Gladio.”

Gladio tilts his head, giving Noctis a lopsided smile.

“I'm not a stray,” he says, pointing to the Lucian sigil emblazoned on his right breast. “I have an owner.”

Noctis stares dumbly back at him.

“Iggy and Prom are waiting for us at Fittings,” Gladio tells him. “The sooner we get through this, the sooner we can go home.”

_Home._

“Let's ditch,” Noctis tries.

“We could,” Gladio responds, “but Iggy knows where we live.”

_Where we live._

Noctis stares at him in his too-snug military dress, looking a little shaggy for his unshaven face, the hair growing on his temples where's he's normally shorn. He wears a smile across his scarred face, but there is sadness in the depth of his eyes.

“Let's get it over with,” Gladio tries again. “I'm sure we can find ways to work through your aggression later.”

Noctis raises his eyebrows in surprise, not certain Gladio is referring to a cigarette.

They walk in silence across the shady pitch that surrounds the Center, a place Gladio and Noctis have spent countless hours sparring and training on. As they pass the grand oak at the center of the field, Noctis cannot help but recall the vivid memory of first practicing his warp distance when he was just fourteen, Gladio measuring out flags from the center of the tree, thirty meters, forty meters, loving the impressed look on Gladio’s face every time he improved.

It’s strange to be on the pitch and not have Gladio barking at him or trying to beat him up. Instead they walk slowly, their arms bumping together as they go. It’s nice to be with him, to have a sense of normalcy and familiarity amongst all of this. Unfortunately, the comfort he offers is steadily replaced by dread as they approach their destination.

Noctis has always hated Fittings. He despises most Court appropriate wear, copping out into a sport coat and jeans whenever humanly possible. His father always wore layer upon layer of stiff fabric and ornamental armor, a style of dress that Noctis knows is both hot and miserable. He approaches the door with horror, dreading whatever grandiose costume has been designed for an event as paramount as a Coronation.

It’s even worse than he could have expected. First and foremost, he's offended there is so much gold worked into the black garment _._ Ignis knows he hasn’t had anything but solid black, white and grey in his closet for ten years. Secondly, it's not just grandiose, it’s _gaudy_ . It must be two separate pairs of pants, three layers of tunics, a jacket, a _cape._

“No capes,” Noctis says, frowning at the outfit.

His heart pounds just to recall the feeling of being choked, of an unseen attacking pulling down on him while he gasped for air, unable to fight against his assailant’s body weight in the ornamental cape he wore. A cape that had been selected in a Fitting. A cape that almost handed him over to the enemy.

“No capes,” Gladio agrees, and Noctis watches as Gladio and Ignis exchange a look.

Noctis remembers it vividly, being dragged from the hall, the searing pain that bloomed across his wrist as Gladio cut him free. He watched the man try to defend himself against Gladio, fighting back with a blade drawn, but he succumbed to his Shield’s rage, the blood pouring from his throat as he managed only a weak statement the front of Gladio’s face. Although he has been trained his whole life for the possibility, Noctis knew it was the first time Gladio had killed someone. He sometimes still feels like he is on his hands and knees, gasping for air with the weight of the cape above him, watching Gladio plunge his knife into the man’s throat and tear him open without hesitation.

In the dreams that haunt him, Gladio uses his teeth.

“I won’t wear this,” Noctis says, looking right past the tailor to appeal directly to Ignis.

“What _will_ you wear, Your Majesty?” Ignis asks, sounding spread thin.

“A t-shirt and shorts,” Noctis says hotly.

“Something he can fight in,” Gladio suggests, and Noctis looks over at him, recalling the way Gladio had cut him free from that cape, looking down at Noctis with the left side of his face bleeding eagerly. It had been the look of determination in his Shield’s eyes and the suffocating burden of that cape slipping from his shoulders that had given Noctis the will to fight.

“There will be no fighting at the Coronation,” Ignis sighs, like the idea is more of an inconvenience to his planning than a fear of further trauma.

“You don't know that,” Noctis says darkly.

“I _do_ know that,” Ignis answers firmly, lowering his clipboard and take a few steps towards him. “Security measures will be in place, and you are not alone. We are your Crownsguard, Your Majesty. You are protected.”

Noctis’ eyes caress the floor; he is both further irritated and somewhat placated by Ignis’ words.

“I shall have Derios rework the outfit,” Ignis suddenly concedes.

“This doesn’t work for me either,” Noctis says, eyes back on Gladio. “I don’t like the uniform.”

Ignis stares at Noctis, his face a practiced mask of inscrutability.

“What do I get to wear?” Prompto finally chirps.

“I haven't gotten that far,” Ignis says pointedly, scribbling something on his clipboard. “No uniforms, T-shirt and shorts,” he adds with an subtle eye roll. “Any other requests, Noct?”

“Black.”

“Splendid. Then I suppose we’re done here for today. I’ll drive you home.”

As the Crownsguard exits the Palace together, Noctis habitually asks, “so, what's for dinner?”

“Aww can’t, man,” Prompto sighs. “I have range practice this evening. I need to keep improving. Cannot skip!” he says, clapping his hands together to punctuate his resolve.

“You'll have to fend for yourselves tonight, I’m afraid,” Ignis says. “There is much still for me to do today. Place an order in. Something _healthy,_ if you can manage.”

Just another thing that will never be the same. Noctis sulks his way to the Regalia.

Gladio and Noctis enter the apartment and Noctis collapses on the couch. He feels drained even though they weren’t at the Citadel for more than a few hours. At least he can’t feel the Ring right now. It seems, for the time being, that Insomnia is at ease. He quickly falls asleep.

By the time Noctis wakes up, it’s already dark outside. He sits up slowly on the couch. There are a few lights on in the apartment, but Noctis doesn’t see Gladio anywhere as he looks around.

And then he hears him. Snoring gently from the floor beside him.

Gladio is asleep on his back, a novel left open on his chest, rising and falling as he breathes. Most likely doing push-ups and took a break to read, or maybe he's been sleeping on the floor this whole week, who knows, but he’s rarely seen his friend sleeping, maybe ever and he looks down at him in fascination. He’s changed back into his sweats and his tanktop and Noctis immediately resents having napped in his clothes. He shrugs out of his blazer and wriggles out of his jeans, all the while seizing the opportunity to study Gladio while he cannot look back.

Noctis has always liked looking at Gladio and his body. It was Gladio that gave Noctis his first erection at twelve years old, having thrown him to mat and pinned him from behind, his heavy hips pressing into Noctis’ bottom, immediately waking something in the young prince that he would never forget. But it was easy to hate Gladio as a kid, his personality was insufferable, his practices even worse, and Noctis didn't spare him a curious glance for years.

It wasn't until Noctis graduated high school that things began to change. Prompto and Ignis were both pursuing higher education, but he and Gladio were not. He suddenly had more free time and Gladio seemed to occupy it. His bodyguard would escort him on fishing trips, not saying all that much, and Noctis found himself liking the quiet companionship more than he liked being alone.

They continued to fight daily, and Gladio had grown in those years, continued to grow, until he was impossibly large and breathtakingly strong. Noctis had accused him once, groaning on the floor of the training center, Gladio having sprinted across the room to tackle Noctis out of the air just as he materialized out of a warp, that he had been taking muscle stimulants.

Gladio had laughed, still pinning him to the mat. “Nah, just hard work.”

“Why do you need to be this strong anyway?” Noctis had groaned, dislodging his armlock and shoving him away.

“How else am I gonna keep up with you?” he had asked.

It was harder though, to steal glances at Gladio when it was just the two of them, and that only made the intrigue stronger.

Dinner at the apartment became a regular thing when Gladio was old enough to buy beer. They would sit around and talk shit and play video games and even Ignis would drink although he had a few choice words for Gladio the first time he came over laden with clinking bottles. But the four of them had fun, and for the first time in his life, Noctis felt like he had “guys” instead of a group of servants. He didn't want to complicate it with attraction to one of them, so he pointedly ignored the flutter in his gut every time Gladio drank enough to take off his top.

But there's only one word for the way Prompto gets after a little bit of booze: _flirty_ . Noctis didn't know anything about Gladio’s sexual preferences, didn't _want_ to know anything, and even though Noctis knew that Prom preferred women, he would make comments about Gladio’s body, loudly speculate about the size of his dick, or put his hands on parts of Gladio that would only be touched on the spar mat. Gladio pandered into it every time. Frustration for the constant reinforcement of his growing attraction and the sting of pure, unadulterated jealousy eventually drove Noctis to yank Prompto in his bedroom and demand:

“What are you doing?”

“What are you talking about?” Prompto giggled.

“Why are you acting like this? Are you into him or something?”

“No,” Prompto had grinned, “but you are.”

Mortified, he spun away from Prompto and listened to him laugh. Prompto, the one friend that never tiptoed around him. His best friend and also a total ass. But silently, Noctis was grateful. Prompto never pushed it, but the knowledge that someone knew his secret gave Noctis the license to accept it and it quickly became a game to look at Gladio whenever his bodyguard was looking away.

He never let it consume him, learned to control inappropriate swells of arousal, he even tried to to redirect it onto nameless boys he'd meet in bars, but it's never go further than making out in a hallway, Noctis chickening out before hands found their way into pants, every time suddenly halted by the fear of his secret getting out, especially in the months approaching the wedding.

He preferred trustworthy company, namely his own, and Ignis only once made the mistake of opening his bedside table and discovering his collection of toys. He could make do with those, he had thought.

Now he doesn't have to.

His eyes skim over Gladio’s form, tracing his tattoos over thickly muscled arms, down to his fingers and then jumping up to his hips, where a sliver of skin shows between his shirt and pants, exposing the clear V that sinks lower to his concealed bulge, and down to his powerful thighs visible even beneath his clothes, and then back up to where the mounds of his chest reach out from beneath his top with every breath. He studies his furry jawline and then further up his face, noticing the deep crease Gladio has already worried into his brow. His eyes trace the healing slash above and beneath his left eye, a permanent reminder of the weapon his Shield has become, he looks at the dark brand the Ring had left on his thick lower lip. Gladio is different than he was before, but Noctis would be lying if he were to deny his appreciation for the feral look about him now.

After years of telling himself that it was only a fantasy, so easily Gladio had come into his bed.

Noctis is pretty sure he's the first guy Gladio has fooled around with, but after the way Gladio came shouting face-first on his dick last night, Noctis isn't too concerned about it.

And to have turned Gladio, an intimidating mountain of a man, into a panting, trembling mess, to see him embarrass himself and disgrace himself, to be able to make the beast lay down when he asks, to feel him put away his teeth and lick him instead...

Before Noctis realizes what he’s doing, he has pulled his boxers down and is touching himself on the couch and he doesn't stop because it won't take him long with Gladio unknowingly pinned beneath his eyes.

When he's finished and put away, Noctis reaches a socked foot towards Gladio and kicks him in the side. Gladio grunts awake, rolling towards him, squinting up at Noctis on the couch above him.

“Who let this dog in here?” he asks.

His Shield runs a hand down his face, wiping away his bleariness. Gladio reaches for his fallen book, trying to find the page he was on.

“I’m hungry,” Noctis says.

“What do you want for dinner?” Gladio asks, sitting up on the ground and crossing his long legs beneath him. He looks Noctis over, in just his white button-up and grey boxers and Noctis lets him look.

“Dunno,” he says.

“Iggy said healthy,” Gladio frowns in contemplation, his voice still gravelly from his nap. “What about pizza? We’ll order olives and pretend they're vegetables.”

“Pizza?” Noctis repeats, pausing. He hasn’t had pizza, real _delivery_ pizza, in years, not the things Ignis makes that he likes to call pizza.

“I want pizza,” Noctis says.

“Me too,” Gladio grins. He leans forward and pushes Noctis’ phone towards him on the coffee table. “Why don’t you place the order?”

“You do it. I hate making phone calls.”

“I know you do,” Gladio chides.

Noctis pushes the phone towards Gladio and he scoots, backing away from it.

“I’m not going to do it,” he says. “If you want pizza, you’ll have to call yourself.”

“Why couldn’t _Ignis_ do it?” Noctis complains.

“Because Ignis is busy at the Citadel taking care of things for you. You should be able to take basic care of yourself.”

Noctis glares at Gladio. He sits up tall on the floor, arms crossed over his chest, looking at Noctis like he always does when he’s manipulating him into doing something he doesn’t want to. Noctis narrows his eyes at him.

“Why are you suddenly acting like my coach again?”

“Aren't I still?”

Noctis studies him. Sitting on the floor in his pajamas, Gladio looks less like a teacher, and more like a pet.

“Yeah but… this week has been... different.”

“It has,” Gladio agrees.

“I’m recovering,” he tries hollowly.

“Don’t think we get to do any more of that.”

Noctis sighs.

“Why are you doing this? Trying to make me function?”

“Because I know you can,” Gladio answers, his eyes flitting to the Ring of Lucii on Noctis’ hand. Noctis puts his hand in his pocket.

“You’re my King,” he continues. “Your success is my only mission. You're the only thing left I love.”

Noctis’ eyes cut sharply away from him. He wishes he'd stop using that word. No one who has ever loved him made it out alive.

He orders the pizza.

Noctis decides to smoke while they wait for dinner to arrive. It's windy on the balcony and when Gladio sees him struggling, his bodyguard leans forward and cups his hands around the cigarette so Noctis may light it. Noctis can feel Gladio’s eyes crawl over him, still in just his dress shirt and underwear from stripping on the couch earlier, the cool evening air and Galdio’s direct attention painting his bare legs with goosebumps. He's used to Gladio’s watchful eyes as a protector, as a trainer, but as a… lover, it's new, and the heat behind the gaze makes his skin prickle, even when he's asking for it. He looks pointedly up at the waning moon while he smokes, wondering what sort of primal box of Pavlovian arousal he had opened to make Gladio so instantly hard in his sweats at the sound of a handheld lighter.

Distantly, he wonders if he's a coping mechanism for Gladio. Presently, he doesn't mind.

Finally, Gladio drags his hungry eyes away from Noctis and back out at the view and Noctis is grateful for the chance to cool down. They do still have pizza coming, after all.

But with Gladio’s attention off of him, Noctis only finds himself playing the same game, and after several long moments of Gladio letting Noctis look, he speaks up.

“Gonna burn holes in my cheek, Noct.”

“You're one to talk!” Noctis snaps defensively, called out on his behavior for the first time after several days of it. Gladio just smiles, still looking away from him, leaving only the marred left half of his face for the King to see.

“Why didn’t you use a potion for your face?” He finally asks.

“Am I that ugly?”

Noctis grimaces at him. “No, of course not, it just would have been an easy fix. You had plenty of potions. Now it's too late.”

Gladio glances at him then and shrugs.

“Honestly? It never crossed my mind. There was a lot of other stuff going on.”

Namely, _him._

Noctis taps some ash onto the railing.

“How are you feeling about the funeral tomorrow?” Gladio ask. His voice is soft like the moon is listening.

Noctis shrugs, bringing the cigarette back to his lips.

“We’ll get by,” he says.

The doorbell rings.

They eat on the couch. The pizza is so good that neither of them speak. Gladio eats the crusts Noctis tosses back into the box.

As soon as Noctis pushes the empty box to the center of the table, Gladio is on top of him. They kiss lazily for a few minutes, their lips and fingers still greasy and warm, and Noctis feels contented by how easy it feels to give himself over like this. He runs his hands over Gladio’s back and shoulders, over his tank top, eager to feel the muscles he’s spent so long looking at. When Noctis slips his hands beneath his shirt and pets along the spans of hard muscle along his lower back, Gladio breaks away from his mouth to kiss his neck. Gladio starts to unbutton his shirt, big hands pawing at Noctis like he's been waiting patiently all day for the opportunity and Noctis relaxes beneath the attention, his eyes falling shut and his body going slack where Gladio pins him to the couch, because he’s also been waiting all day to come back here, to indulge in the escape from their Royal duties the two of them have found together.

“You were a little irritable at the Palace today,” Gladio tells him.

It's the worst possible thing he could have said, and Noctis’ eyes snap open. He immediately pushes on Gladio’s chest, trying to squirm out from beneath him.

“No. No way are you going to lecture me on my behavior right now,” he says, managing to struggle away from Gladio, scooting backwards on his ass away from him.

“This is not a lecture!” Gladio chuckles, grabbing Noctis by the hips and dragging him back beneath him on the couch. “It’s stress relief.”

Noctis barely hear Gladio past the rushing blood in his ears, instantly driven mad by the way Gladio hauls him back. After hardly a pause, Noctis begins to struggle again, but Gladio drags him back every time he slithers away. Noctis desperately wishes they were on the spar mat, where they could really wrestle. He relishes in the way Gladio grabs at him, suddenly realizing what a dangerous animal he can be when he is aroused.

“The cigarettes are stress relief,” Noctis tells him, still pushing on his chest but no longer really trying, Gladio getting heavier and heavier as he recognizes his win, laying his hips flush against Noctis’ and flattening him into the couch cushions.

“No, the cigarettes are _foreplay_ ,” he says.

Noctis gives in, bored with pretending he doesn't want it. He arches his hips up into Gladio and feels himself quickening despite getting off so recently. Gladio finishes unbuttoning Noctis’ shirt and pushes it off his shoulders, leaving him in just his boxers on the couch below them.

“Forward tonight,” Noctis notes. “You've been sorta waiting for permission the past few days.”

This makes Gladio pause, his big hands falling still on Noctis’ chest and Noctis is certain Gladio must be able to feel the knocking of his heart against his ribs. Gladio looks down at Noctis, his pupils blown wide and his mouth hanging open, looking like he’s only capable of giving him this one moment to tell him to stop.

“It's okay,” Noctis says, and then sort of embarrassed to try it, but desperate enough to indulge the curiosity, he says, “I like seeing the hungry beast.”

Gladio growls in the back of his throat and pounces on him again, Noctis’ arms trapped between their chests, his palms open on Gladio’s wide chest. He kisses the place where his shoulder and neck meet, the skin bare and ticklish. Noctis snorts, squirming away from him.

“You really are like a dog,” he moans. “Following me around my apartment, eating my scraps.”

“Furry, too,” Gladio adds, dragging his beard along the inside of Noctis’ neck in a way that makes his thighs fall open. Gladio shifts one knee in between them and Noctis presses his groin down onto him.

“Yeah…” he answers, little too dreamily for his own taste.

Gladio continues to press his face down Noctis’ neck, kissing across his collarbone and Noctis can bring a hand up to rest on the top of his head. His hair has gotten long in the last year and Noctis knows he’s trying to grow it out. He’s come to really like the way it feels between his fingers, especially when he gets to pet him while Gladio is _otherwise_ occupied. Noctis pats his head affectionately, looking down at Gladio as his kisses get sloppier and he starts to use his tongue.

“Gonna lick me head to toe again tonight, puppy dog?”

Gladio pulls away and looks up at Noctis, who is satisfied to see his cheeks and ears turning red. After so many years of Gladio having the upper hand, Noctis cannot help but think he looks _good_ when he’s embarrassed.

He drags his hand down from his head to pet his cheek and feel the heat there, before scratching his fingernails down through his beard.

“Is that what you want?” Gladio asks.

The implication is _whatever you want._

In all honesty, Noctis doesn’t want much. He has _more_ than he wants, if he really wants to argue it, but there is _one thing_ Noctis has always wanted and until now, he never trusted anyone enough to go there. Noctis stares at Gladio for only a moment before he has to look away, the electricity of eye contact too much to bear. His eyes find the moon through the open window and it is a threatening reminder: _life is short._ He sighs.

“I want…” Noctis says slowly, carefully easing himself out of Gladio’s grip, lest he startle the beast, “I want you to stay right here. Until I call you.”

Gladio stays still and lets Noctis pull away from him, but he furrows his brow.  

“Noct, what?”

Noctis has to climb over Gladio, who sits frozen by his confusion, but he finally manages to get his feet on the floor. He fidgets a little beneath Gladio’s calculating gaze, feeling naked in just his boxers and immediately doubting his own ability to follow through.

“Can you just stay here?” he asks. “While I do something. And I'll call you and you can come in.”

Gladio tilts his head slightly, listening with a serious expression on his face. He sits with his hands folded in his lap, waiting for Noctis to finish speaking, and then when he realizes Noct isn’t planning on saying anything else, he sighs.

“Okay…” he says slowly.

Noctis, a little exasperated and feeling the heat of embarrassment crawl into his face plants his feet and crosses his arms over his chest defensively.

“Just sit and stay. You can do that, right doggy?”

It works. Gladio’s eyes pop open and then narrow sharply, his cheeks flushing pink once more as he stares back at him, head still tilted to the side, sweatpants still tenting. Noctis smirks at him, concluding smugly that the only thing better than seeing Gladio embarrassed is seeing him embarrassed _and_ confused, the shape of his hard cock visible in his lap.

“Don't touch yourself,” Noctis adds as an afterthought, relieved to have the upper hand once more.

Gladio, dumbstruck, remains on the couch while Noctis walks away.

Noctis slaps the lights off in the living room, throwing Gladio into darkness where he sits.

He steps into his bedroom and shuts the light off in there as well and then the apartment is pitch black, save the neon numbers floating from the clock on his bedside table. Noctis strips out of his boxers and throws them over the clock.

In the darkness, Noctis climbs onto the bed, and it is routine enough to reach into his bedside drawer without looking to select a toy and locate the bottle of lube, but despite a lack of vision, he can _feel_ the bedroom door where it remains open, where it leads back to Gladio, waiting in the darkness and Noctis feels a jolt of anxiety pierce through him. He wishes he had his phone so he could turn on some internet porn, but that’s not a part of the plan, so he swallows his doubt and rolls onto his hands and knees.

He’s not going to give Gladio a choice in the matter.

Noctis tries to take the toy, but he chose his biggest one and if he’s honest, he’s rushing himself. He usually starts with his fingers and it’s been nearly two weeks since he’s done this and he’s out of practice. He pulls the toy away and slicks it again, but holds it in his left hand while he reaches behind himself and presses a palmful of lube into his entrance with two fingers, the excess smeared all over his ass and crack, dripping down his balls and inner thighs. He brings the toy behind himself again and this time is able to push it inside.

He’s tense and his nerves keep him from relaxing, the toy clamped inside of him in a way that makes it impossible to move. Noctis tries to pull it back out, but his fingers are slippery, so he lowers his face into the pillow and pants in pain for a few moments while he waits for his body to adjust. Noctis can only tolerate so much patience, his unoccupied mind drifting back to the briefing at the Palace and the upcoming Funeral and all sorts of thoughts that are unwelcome to him with a rubber cock in his ass, so he reaches back and begins to work himself open on the toy.

It is a relief to feel his body begin to soften, to let the toy slide slickly in and out of him. Thinking about Gladio still waiting on the couch makes it feel even better, and Noctis tries to imagine how he looks in the dark, sitting with a hard cock he isn’t allowed to touch. Noctis grows hard with the penetration, discomfort rapidly transforming to pleasure and he indulges in stroking himself, just a little. He bites back the moan that he almost lets slip, not wanting to alarm Gladio with any noises, but failing only a moment later when he plunges the toy deep enough to brush his prostate, resulting in the familiar explosion of pleasure that causes Noctis to cry out every time.

Noctis bites his lip, his hand falling still. He can hear Gladio jump up off of the couch.

“Noct…?” He calls out.

Afraid that Gladio may disregard his instructions and come into the room where the door waits open and inviting, Noctis yells over his shoulder, “Sit. Down!”

After a weighted moment of silence, the couch creaks beneath Gladio’s weight once more.

Sighing, Noctis pulls the toy from him and lets it fall to the ground to be dealt with later. He reaches around until his finds the bottle of lube, wetting his fingers liberally and pressing another few squeezes worth into his stretched hole. He wipes his hand on the bedspread.

“Okay, Gladio,” he says, and his voice comes out weak and a little fucked already, but Gladio hears him, and within seconds Noctis can feel his presence at the door, listening to it creak and then click shut behind him.

Gladio approaches the side of the bed and Noctis is so grateful for the darkness, feeling foolish and exposed on his hands and knees. He hangs his head and tries to breathe evenly. He’s never done this before, kinda thought he’d _never_ do this, and in the few seconds Gladio stands still beside him, Noctis isn’t sure if he should explain.

He is reassured by a big hand landing on him in the darkness, five fingers and a trembling palm on his lower back. The mattress suddenly bows beneath him as Gladio crawls onto the bed and up behind Noctis, both hands cautiously wrapping around his waist.

Noctis can hear his ragged breathing.

He rocks back into him, presenting himself in the darkness like he has done a hundred times for his own hand, and his breath catches in his throat when he feels Gladio’s naked cock bump against his inner thighs.

Gladio’s hands tighten on his hips, and Noctis is being dragged backwards on the bed towards him. He ruts his cock up against him, the blunt end briefly catching on the underside of his buttocks before it pushes past and slides easily through the slippery crack of his ass. Gladio grunts violently, and one hand falls away from Noctis’ hip as he can only imagine Gladio is grasping his cock.

He hopes Gladio didn’t touch himself while he was waiting.

Noctis wants everything he has to give.

Gladio is breathing loud and rude as he brings his cockhead to Noctis’ entrance and Noctis holds his breath while Gladio curiously presses the swollen tip against the ring of muscle there. What he finds is Noctis, hot and wet and open for him, and he gasps. Gladio frantically grabs at Noctis with both hands as he desperately buries himself inside.

With nothing to see but the dark and nothing to hear but Gladio’s panting, Noctis can feel every inch of Gladio as he breaches him. He can feel his thick cockhead plunging deeper into him than anything has ever been, the ridge of it dragging roughly against his walls. He can feel the veins that rope over his hard, impossibly hot shaft. He can feel his walls, alternating between clenching against the burn and loosening around it. When Gladio groans loudly, Noctis feels it inside.

His cock is bigger than his biggest toy, and Noctis is trembling from the invasion. The pain is distracting for only a moment, though. As Gladio pulls Noctis back against him fully, their thighs touch and Gladio leans over his back and Noctis discovers that sometime during his test of patience, Gladio abandoned his clothes.

Noctis moans.

Gladio fucks into him right away, grunting every time he presses into him, sighing whenever he pulls back and Noctis drops his head and lets it hang, letting himself get lost in the darkness, focusing only on being taken from behind. Gladio releases one side of Noctis’ hip, where he had been clutching at him with a bruising strength, and slowly slides his hand up his bare back, to wrap firmly over his shoulder. He pulls Noctis even further back into him and Noctis sighs with pleasure at the gentle feeling of their sacs nestled together juxtaposed to the urgent way Gladio’s cock seems to dig impossibly deeper inside of him.

With the new leverage, Gladio begins to roll into him once more, stroking his cock upward inside of him in just a way that he presses right into the bundle of nerves waiting for him there. Noctis cries out, his right arm failing to support his weight and he falls to his elbows moaning, his dick leaking in response. Gladio’s hands tighten on him and he goes completely still.

“Don’t _stop,”_ he cries in exasperation.

Gladio pulls back and thrusts into him again, his aim intentional and this time when Noctis whines, Gladio does not stop. Instead, he leans over him and presses hard into him again and again. Noctis can feel the heat radiating off of his body from above him as he gets rocked into the bed.

His dick bobs between his thighs while Gladio thrusts into him, and Noctis wants so badly to touch himself, but his injured arm can neither wrap around his cock nor support his body weight, so he remains on his elbows, letting the pleasure build impossibly large inside him with every time Gladio’s cock presses hard against his spot.

He can tell that Gladio is getting close too. The sweeping arcs aimed for his sweet spot devolve into simple hammering, Gladio is panting frenzied and loud, and Noctis presses back into him, offers his passage for Gladio’s pleasure. The hand that had been clawing deep into his shoulder suddenly loosens, sprawling wide and flat over the center of his back, pushing down on Noctis’ shoulder blades until he is forced off his elbows and ends up face first in the pillows.

“Good boy.”

  
At his words, Gladio groans, collapsing forward over Noctis in the bed. His bodyweight is crushing, and Noctis finds himself forced flat onto the mattress while Gladio fucks into him desperately. His cock finds finally finds contact on the mattress and Noctis whines, the dual sensation of penetration and friction rapidly bringing him to his edge. He brings both of his hands behind himself so he may feel Gladio, one hand on the side of Gladio’s thigh, the muscles tense while he humps into him, the other wrapped around his head, fingers knotted in his hair, holding his mouth against him while Gladio growls into his ear.

The next time Gladio’s cockhead finds his spot, Noctis explodes. He cums so hard and long he can feel the wetness growing on the sheets beneath his belly. Noctis finds himself crying again, not from sorrow, but from being split open and released in a way he’s never felt before, and the tears just come. He buries his face in the pillows, still moaning to the rhythm of Gladio’s thrusting he comes down from his climax.

With Gladio’s mass above him, Noctis has no choice but to lay pliant while he begins to chase his orgasm, pounding into him in a way that makes their skin slap loudly together. Gladio has been claiming he's too sad to be angry, but Noctis can feel his anger now and he's grateful for it. _Or maybe he's just pent up after so long in the apartment_ , Noctis thinks, _I should take him for a walk._

Gladio fucks down into him harder and harder until he suddenly goes still, buried to the hilt and grunting loudly. Noctis can feel acutely the unfamiliar sensation of cum splashing against his walls and then, as Gladio pulls out of him, the feeling of it sliding out of him and down his thighs.

Gladio pulls Noctis onto his side and they face each other in the dark. Noctis can just barely see the shape of his jaw, the whites of his eyes and Noctis is stunned by the first glimpse of his face after their consummation. Gladio’s thumb brushes over Noctis’ cheeks, wiping away the last few tears there. But Noctis isn't crying anymore, he's content, and he leans into his touch and sighs into his lips.

“Well,” Gladio says when he's caught his breath. “That's one way to do it.”

Noctis rolls his eyes and pulls away from him so he may reach over and flick the light on. The low light of his bedside lamp throws soft blue across the bed, over Gladio’s nude body, and Noctis’ breath is taken away to see him there even though he should have expected it.

He stands on weak legs and carefully steps into his boxers, trying not to stare at the peaks and valleys of Gladio’s muscles and the way they cast dark blue shadows on his skin that make Noctis suddenly want to touch.

“Was that good?”

Noctis scoffs at the question, like Gladio had already forgotten Noctis cumming on his cock just minutes before. He rests his bandaged hand on his hip while he stares back at Gladio, who lay on his side, head propped up on one hand, his cock still softening and red.

“C’mon,” Gladio tries again. “Tell me I'm a good boy.”

Noctis sighs fondly. He turns around to walk the few steps to his bathroom before turning back to face him.

“You're a good boy, Gladio.”

If Gladio had a tail, it would be wagging.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading ^^


	7. Chapter 7

_ 48 hours until the crowning _

 

Gladio wakes with a start. He looks around the room in concern and he finds Noctis still asleep soundly beside him. He pricks his ears to the rest of the apartment, and that's when he hears a set of keys set down on the kitchen counter.

_ Ignis!  _

Gladio had woken up hours ago, but wanting to indulge in Noctis’ bed with him a little longer, he had done his workout, grabbed a novel and come back to bed. He must have fallen asleep, though he hadn't intended to. He leans over and nudges Noctis, who just swats him away. 

A knock on the bedroom door. 

_ Fuck, fuck, fuck.  _

Gladio glances around desperately. He frantically regrets the arrogant decision to do his push-ups in the nude, his sweatpants still abandoned on the floor beside the couch where he left them the night before. He sits in Noct’s bed with nothing to wear and the King himself, still sound asleep and unwilling to help. 

“Gladio.” 

Ignis’ voice is cool and even through the door. 

“Just… a minute,” Gladio answers, defeated before he could even try.

He climbs out of bed, but not before giving Noct a firm shove on the shoulder. It seems to do nothing.

“Get up, Noct,” he says, to no response. 

Gladio has to dig through Noctis’ closet for something to wear, and unlike Ignis, he has no idea where anything is. He opens and closes multiple drawers, paws through the items on hangers and accidentally slams the closet door in his frustration and still Noctis sleeps. 

“You have to go get my pants for me,” he says to no avail. 

Eventually he settles on a pair of elastic work out shorts, probably the only thing of Noct’s he can hope to fit into, and the garment hugs him in ways unintended. He gives up looking for a shirt. He groans,  _ loudly _ , looking over his shoulder at the slumbering King. By now he is certain Noctis is either dead, or faking it. 

He walks past the bed and slaps Noctis on the ass through the covers. He does not stir. 

Gladio allows himself  three seconds at the door to steel himself, and then he brings his hand to the doorknob and turns it slowly. Just as he steps out of the room he hears Noctis murmur from the bed, 

“Good luck.” 

_ Brat. _

Gladio creeps out of the hallway and into the kitchen doorway. Ignis stands in the middle of a kitchen beside a single chair. Around his waist there is a strap of leather. In his gloved hand he holds a long, straight blade. 

“Good morning, Gladio,” he says. “It’s time for a shave.” 

The walk from the doorway to the chair in the center of the kitchen is a true walk of shame for Gladio. He’s given a lot of thought to his developing relationship with Noctis and he is confident that it only will strengthen their bond as King and Shield, but he wasn’t prepared to defend himself against Ignis yet. As he approaches, Ignis watches him with calculating eyes and Gladio feels every inch of his bare skin burning beneath them. His eyes dart desperately to the couch, but Ignis has picked up his sweats and hoodie and has them folded on the counter behind him. He sighs, hanging his head and placing one foot in front of the other. 

Gladio comes to a halt before him. They look at each other for a moment and Gladio can feel his heart pounding in his chest. Ignis gestures at the chair. 

He sits. 

Ignis comes to stand in front of Gladio and nudges Gladio’s knee with his own so he spreads his thighs, and Ignis moves between them. Though Gladio sees the smock folded on the countertop, Ignis chooses not to put it on him, forcing him to sit in his nudity. Gladio keeps his hands cupped over his crotch, the thin material of Noctis’ shorts doing nothing to conceal intimate details of his body. Ignis says nothing, holding a small dish in one hand and a brush in the other. Gladio watches his eyes trace the line from the cut on his face.

“How is it healing?” Ignis asks. 

“Should be fine for a shave.” 

Ignis carefully paints cool shaving cream over his face and neck and the smell of it relaxes Gladio a little, despite his current predicament. Ignis doesn’t seem mad. He doesn’t seem…  _ anything _ really. Ignis has given him a shave before, but never mostly naked after being discovered in their King’s bed, and Gladio expected a larger reaction. 

He watches as Ignis walks back to the counter and trades the bowl and brush for the blade. He runs the edge of it down the leather strap on his thigh a few times, looking at Gladio’s face but not meeting his eyes. When he returns, he steps close to Gladio once more, their thighs brushing together as he brings a gloved hand up to the side of his head and holds him steady behind the ear. 

Gladio doesn’t remember a shave ever feeling so intimate before, but then again, he’s never been shaved when he’s naked and in trouble. 

Ignis brings the razor to his cheek and gently begins sliding it along his skin. Gladio stares into his eyes, trying to read him but Ignis’ focus is trained on his work, his face a practiced mask of stoicism. 

“Unfortunately, I cannot stay for breakfast,” he says. “But I came by to drop off your clothes for the funeral tonight and I couldn’t let  _ this _ ,” he says, flicking a blade full of shaving cream into the sink and then gesturing at Gladio’s face with the razor in hand, “go unattended to. You looked like a bear at the Citadel yesterday.” 

_ Not a bear,  _ Gladio thinks.  _ A dog.  _

“Leave some of it,” Gladio requests a little sheepishly when Ignis approaches his jawline.

Ignis shaves a careful track along Gladio’s jaw and then moves to the other side of his face and begins to meticulously shave around his scar. The gentle scratching of the blade across the surface of his skin, the way Ignis’ fingers crawl through his hair lulls him and Gladio resists the urge to close his eyes, still desperately searching Ignis’ face. 

“I’ve brought you both a Formal Glaive and a suit,” he says, “Whatever Noctis chooses for you is fine.” 

Ignis’ words make Gladio’s heart knock in his chest. He stares up at Ignis, at the only other person that could possibly understand what it feels like to protect Noctis, to love him. 

_ Whatever Noctis chooses for you is fine. _

That’s really what it was all about. 

“Iggy,  _ please _ .” 

Ignis takes a step away from Gladio, his gloved hands and the straight razor poised in the air between them. Ignis looks at him, slowly, head to toe and Gladio wishes he could cross his arms over his chest without showing off his cock and balls. 

“Yes?” he says when he’s done. 

“The waiting is killin’ me,” Gladio begs. “Get on with it.” 

“What are you talking about?” Ignis asks flatly, flicking the razor towards the sink and sharpening it on his leather strap. 

“You know,” Gladio says, pointing his eyes towards Noctis’ bedroom, though he feels like his state of undress should be enough to go on. 

“I want to hear you say it,” Ignis tells him. 

Gladio groans. He shuts his eyes for a moment and tries to imagine he’s wearing clothes. 

“Noct and I had sex,” he says without opening his eyes. 

A moment of silence follows, and then Ignis steps back between Gladio’s legs and brings the razor beneath his lower lip, briefly contemplating and then beginning to deftly shave a design into the hair on his chin. 

“Just once?” Ignis asks. 

“Uh, no…” Gladio says and he’s too embarrassed to look at Ignis’ face, so he keeps his eyes shut, sits as still as possible, and lets him shave. 

“So you’ve had sex more than once, and you’re planning on having sex again?” 

“Lotta of detail you want,” Gladio says, having to murmur as to not disturb the razor working by his mouth.

“You didn’t  _ have sex _ with His Majesty, you’re  _ having  _ sex with him,” Ignis tells him, bending down slightly to shave Gladio’s neck and Gladio finally opens his eyes then to look at his friend. 

“Is this a grammar lesson?” Gladio sighs. 

Ignis meets his eyes, pocketing the razor and bringing a towel to Gladio’s face. 

“I’m trying to determine if you envision this relationship continuing,” Ignis says, gently rubbing the cloth over his freshly shaved skin. 

After a moment of reflection, Gladio answers, “I do.”  

Ignis pulls the cloth away from his face for a moment and still stooping, searches deeply in Gladio’s eyes. 

“I must admit, I’ve had my suspicions for some time now,” Ignis says then, standing up and setting the towel on the counter. He plugs in a pair of electric clippers. “Satisfaction in confirmation, I suppose.” 

“Suspicions?” Gladio asks, but Ignis has already flipped the clippers on and he has to wait for him to finish, tilting his head from side to side as Ignis trims his beard and the overgrown patches of buzzed hair at his temples. Hair falls all over his bare arms and chest, making him itch, but he sits still, hands concealing himself and he resists the urge to scratch. Finally, Ignis shuts them off. 

“It  _ just _ happened,” Gladio says when he’s done. Ignis makes a face like he doesn’t believe him.

Circling around behind him, he runs his gloved fingers through his hair. Gladio can hear him snip a pair of scissors into the air. 

“I’ll leave the length,” he says. “It’s almost long enough to braid.” 

It’s easier to talk with Ignis standing behind him, he feels a little less exposed getting to face the kitchen counter, but one of Ignis’ gloved hands occasionally comes to rests on his bare shoulder for a few seconds at a time, reminding him of his vulnerability. 

“I thought you’d be angrier,” Gladio admits. 

“Why would I be angry?” Ignis asks, but Gladio can hear the subtle teasing lilt in his voice. 

He continues, “the bond between a King and his Shield is a deeply emotional one. It only makes sense such an intimate relationship may turn sexual. Historically, it’s considerably common, as far as Lucis goes.” 

“Huh,” Gladio says in surprise. 

Ignis cleans up the hair by his ears, shortens his bangs and takes a little off the top. 

“King Regis and your father were one such example,” Ignis says casually. 

Gladio spins around in his chair, staring up at Ignis who merely looks exasperated by the interruption. 

“What,” Gladio says flatly. 

Ignis sighs, wiping the scissors on a cloth before setting them down. 

“For many years,” Ignis says, “they essentially ruled as a partnership.” 

_ “What,”  _ Gladio says again, unable to process Ignis’ words. 

“It was pretty common knowledge amongst the Court,” Ignis says, “but I suppose it makes sense they would keep it from you and Noctis.”

Finally, Gladio is able to put his thoughts into words.

“Are you telling me,” he says, still turned in his chair, clutching the back of it with both hands like it may keep him steady, “that  _ my dad _ and His Majesty were  _ fucking _ ?” 

Ignis makes a face of disappointment at him. 

“They were two men in a sworn relationship, that took an oath to pursue the same goal. Both of your fathers were widowed early on, it only seems natural. Like I said, lots of Lucian Kings have...  _ fucked  _ their Shields,” he says, adopting the crude language. “Or… Shields their Kings,” he corrects a moment later, looking Gladio up and down. 

His cheeks burn red. Gladio has nothing to say. He turns back around in his chair and stares numbly at the wall. Ignis comes up behind him once more, stroking his fingers through his hair and resuming his cut. 

“Thought I was making a mistake,” Gladio says, mostly to himself. 

Ignis drags a comb through his hair a few times and pockets it, both of his gloved hands coming to brush cut hair from his naked shoulders.

“Gladio, you and Noctis experienced a traumatic event together. The two of you are destined to face the aftermath,  _ together _ . I don’t see this relationship being detrimental to the goal, as long as you don’t let it distract you.” 

Gladio’s eyes drift towards Noctis’ shut bedroom door, where the King lay sleeping. 

“What  _ is _ the goal, Iggy?” he asks. 

“It’s up to Noct,” Ignis says solemnly, giving Gladio’s shoulders a small squeeze. 

And then suddenly, just before Gladio can climb out of the chair, one of Ignis’ arms snakes down his shoulder and across his chest, pinning him down. His hand wraps firmly around the base of Gladio’s neck, fingers digging in just slightly. Gladio takes a strangled breath in when he feels the edge of the straight razor press against his jugular, his entire body going rigid beneath it. Ignis leans down over him and presses his lips against Gladio’s ear. 

“If you hurt him,” he whispers. “I will kill you.” 

Ignis holds him there and Gladio can feel his pulse hammering up against the blade. Ignis breathes slowly against his ear for a few moments longer, then releases him. 

“I will pick you up at seventeen-hundred tonight. Please make sure His Majesty takes a shower.”

“Will do,” Gladio says, running a hand over his freshly trimmed beard, feeling his heart slowly begin to steady where it thunks in his chest. He watches the adviser pack up his things, feeling bewildered by the new and shocking information about his father and the general unpredictability of the morning. He rubs his hand over the spot on his throat where Ignis had held the blade. 

One things for certain, it was  _ definitely  _ the most intimate shave he's received. 

It takes until Ignis is out the door for the stunned Gladio to rise from his seat. He returns to the bedroom. Noct is still in bed, but he's awake and scrolling his phone. 

“How was it?” Noctis asks without looking up.

“It went… alright,” Gladio answers, not sure that word really encompasses the experience. “He’ll be back at five.” 

“Some time to kill,” he says thoughtfully.

Gladio walks to the bathroom and wets a towel so that he may wipe away the sharp hairs that prickle across his skin. He keeps his eyes on Noctis, who  _ eventually  _ looks up at him. Noctis takes in Ignis’ handiwork on his hair and beard, and then his eyes drift lower, to where Gladio rubs at his mostly naked body and bulges out of a pair of inappropriately small jersey shorts. Noctis smirks.

“This is a good look for you.”

Gladio says nothing to him, uncharmed. 

“Let's go to the Center today,” Noctis says, turning his attention back to his phone.  “I'm hungry for a fight.” 

“Alright,” Gladio answers, glancing over Noctis’ still wounded left arm. “If you think you're up to it. You deserve an ass kicking anyway.” 

Gladio is eager to get Noct on the mat. While he’s pleased to see the King’s mood steadily improving, a war cannot be fought on pizza and cigarettes alone. They need to stay sharp. Plus, he hasn’t complained aloud, but he’s getting a little pent up in the apartment. There’s only so much that push-ups can do. 

Noctis drives with the top down, the wind ruffles their hair. 

He parks directly behind the training center. They walk together to the same room they’ve always used and even though it’s been less than two weeks since they’ve been here, Gladio can’t help but feel like it was lifetimes ago. Still, pushing the door open to the room, Gladio feels the most like himself he has since  _ before.  _ Noctis looks around the room with a similar curiosity, hanging his bag and jacket on his usual hook by the front door. 

As a kid, Noctis was scheduled to meet with Gladio three days a week after school. When Noctis was sixteen, the prince requested they meet five days a week, and it remained that way ever since. He would frequently show up after school pissed off or depressed about something, and they never spoke about it, they just fought. Sometimes Gladio would receive a text message on the weekend, out of the blue, requesting a spar. He would always drop everything to meet Noctis at the center for a few rounds. On particularly bad days for Noctis, practice would bleed into a second or third hour, but eventually the Prince would be satisfied, and always left the center smiling. 

After his graduation, Noctis’ mood seemed to spiral even worse than it had done during adolescence, and it came to pass that the few hours they’d fight in the afternoons were the only time of the day Noctis would leave his apartment. Still, it was rare that he’d cancel, although Gladio can vividly recall the disappointment he felt the few times it happened. 

It had become so routine in the last year and a half: he would walk to the Center in the afternoon and meet Noct, they’d beat the crap out of each other for a while, and then Noct would drive them back to his apartment. Ignis was usually there prepping dinner already, greeting them when they walked through the door. He imagines the sight of the two of them entering Noctis’ apartment together, flushed and satisfied from a fight, and he wonders if that’s when Ignis’ suspicions began. 

Looking back now, he sees the unnamed, unrecognized feelings blooming from deep in his chest.

Noctis picks two swords from the wall and Gladio just stands and watches, deciding to let Noctis call the shots this first time back on the mat. He hands Gladio the two-handed sword that mimics his greatsword, and Noctis selects a broadsword for himself, perfect representations of the two weapons they fought with the night of the attack. Gladio finds it a little disorienting to be holding a dull sword when the edge of tragedy in his heart still feels so sharp. Despite years of preparation, neither of them had ever turned their weapons on a hostile before.  

With his King to protect, it had been easier than he expected. 

Noctis presses the sword into Gladio’s hand, and for a few seconds, they both hold the hilt together, face to face. They’ve done this a thousand times before but it feels entirely new now that something has bloomed between them. Gladio watches Noctis’ eyes trace the line of his scar. He leans in to kiss him but Noctis shakes his head, stepping away.

The King postures before him, a challenging smirk on his face, wearing the same godsdamn shorts Gladio was interrogated in this morning. They’re shorter than the usual pairs he wears, and the simple thought that Noctis is presenting parts of his body for his viewing makes his mouth water. Standing before him now, Gladio wonders how he resisted so long. His fingers tingle with anticipation around the hilt of his sword. Noctis points the smaller broadsword in his direction, and he watches as he folds his bandaged left arm behind him, pressing it securely against the small of his back. 

_ Go easy on him,  _ Gladio reminds himself. 

Noctis launches at him. Naturally impulsive and eager for gratification, Noctis almost always makes the first move. He swings for Gladio and Gladio must spring into action, Noctis knocking him back across the mat after he blocks blow after blow with his sword, no slower for his lack of limb. 

“Pretty quick for a guy with a hole in his arm,” Gladio notes in surprise. 

“Yeah and you're surprisingly good with that sword for someone so clumsy with a knife,” Noctis retorts. 

“If you can talk this much I’m going too easy on you,” Gladio responds, hurling Noctis backwards with a two-handed push on the wide blade. Noctis has to warp to catch his balance and Gladio is a little surprised to see him do it. 

“I don’t want you to go easy on me,” Noctis says, facing him. 

“Yeah,” Gladio chuckles, raising his eyebrows at Noctis. “I’m learning that.” 

Noctis’ cheeks turn a little pink and he huffs before throwing his sword at Gladio and warping to catch it. Gladio has to default to defense again, and he blocks the surprisingly strong blows the shorter man hurls his way. Wounded and out of practice, Gladio didn’t expect Noctis to bring such game. He wonders if it’s the Ring. Noctis keeps the arm folded tightly behind his back. 

“Who knew the Prince wanted it rough, all this time,” Gladio says, teasing him just enough to make Noctis hesitate. He takes the aggressive position, and begins knocking Noctis back across the mat, who blocks his blows with his classic sneer planted on his face.

“Don’t tease me,” Noctis warns, copping out of his defense with a warp dodge. Gladio smiles at him while he recovers, admires the way he becomes flush as they spar, his hair sticking to the sides of his face. He drags his eyes down to where Noctis’ hand wraps around the hilt of his sword and lower, to where his exposed thighs beg to be bitten. Noctis catches him looking, and when their eyes meet again, Gladio cannot  _ help _ but tease him. 

“I just didn’t expect the Heir Apparent to be a fuck himself in the ass kind of guy.” 

Noctis lunges for him, sword drawn. Gladio blocks him and they trade parries for a bit. It feels good to put his muscles to work, and Noctis really is putting up an impressive front, perhaps driven by excitement to be back on the mat, or the simple desire to shut Gladio up. 

“What kind of guy  _ did  _ you expect?” Noctis asks over the bright sound of their swords slapping together. 

“I don’t know,” Gladio answers, his eyes tracking the Ring of Lucii as Noctis briefly lowers his left arm. “I certainly didn’t expect--” he narrowly dodges Noct’s sword aimed for his ribs “--what I got.” 

Noctis pauses for a second. He’s panting, and sweating in earnest now, but he looks good and he’s fighting incredibly well. He makes a face at Gladio that Gladio cannot read and then he begins to advance again. 

“Everyone expects something different, don’t they?” he asks. 

The cool way he delivers the question throws Gladio off and he hesitates for just a moment too long. Noctis is on him, and then under him in moments, and before he can register that it’s happening, his ass hits the floor.

He grunts, rolling onto his knees and rubbing his backside when Noctis comes over to help him stand. Noctis offers the forearm of his sword hand and Gladio hoists himself up. As soon as he’s on his feet, Noctis comes at him again, disorientingly fast, warping behind him everytime he tries to turn and he hits the mat a second time in as many moves.

Gladio can’t remember that ever happening before. 

“I said not to tease me,” Noctis explains, helping his panting opponent to his feet. 

Gladio studies him. He is incredibly familiar with Noctis’ fighting, and his friend is definitely stronger and faster than he had been before. He thoughtfully licks at the healing blister on his lower lip. 

And in addition to the power of the Ring, Gladio recognizes something else in the young King, a confidence that has never been there before. Knowing the source of it, he has to bite back a prideful grin. 

“Let’s see what you’ve got, Noct,” he challenges, positioning his sword ready above his shoulder. 

Noct comes at him, and Gladio has to put everything he has into the fight. Noctis is hardly more than icy blue light while they spar, but despite his immaterial form, his blows are heavy and direct and Gladio succumbs to them again and again. They don’t speak, the fight requiring too much of their focus, but the cocky look on Noctis’ face grows with every time he helps Gladio to his feet. Each time he hits the ground, his disbelief doubles. He and Noctis have been evenly matched for years. Never, even with his knowledge of the Crystal, had Gladio wrapped his head around how powerful Noctis would one day become.  

It’s as exciting to Gladio as it is frightening. He’s suddenly not sure how he’s supposed to act in defense of such a large presence, but his admiration outweighs his insecurity and every time Noctis’ sword hits him, the blow moves through his entire body, burns in his feet and reverberates in his gut. So rarely does Gladio meet his match when it comes to combat and as Noctis parries back every blow he offers with a new and undeniable strength, Gladio finds himself thrilled by it. 

The fifth time Gladio hits the floor his sword goes clattering away from him. Noctis comes to stand over him on the mat, planting a foot on either side of Gladio’s hips. Gladio stares up at him in awe, panting, his hands held up above his face. It took twelve years, but Gladio finally finds himself saying:

“I give up.” 

“Good boy,” Noctis says, his own chest heaving with effort. His hair and clothes are soaked through with sweat, his bright cobalt eyes flickering with excitement. He brings his wooden sword up and presses the tip against Gladio’s chest, where the Lucian sigil is embroidered into the breast of his shirt. 

“Don’t forget,” the King says, “who owns you.” 

Gladio sputters out a heady laugh from the floor, still pinned beneath Noctis’ sword. Gladio sits up on his elbows as he catches his breath and Gladio watches as Noctis slowly drags the tip of the sword down his stomach and then lower. When he reaches his crotch, Noctis sets the sword against his bulge and makes a face.

“Are you  _ hard?”  _ he asks. 

Gladio smiles, nodding up at him, “yeah.”

Noctis’ face goes red and he looks away from him for a moment, tossing his sword to the floor. He stands over Gladio, his hands on his hips while he looks down at him in mild antipathy. 

“I’m like a puppy,” Gladio says when he gets his attention back. “I get excited when you play with me.” 

Noctis gives him half a laugh then and drops to his knees, straddling Gladio over his thighs. He pats him on the head. He says, “I figured you could use the exercise.” 

Gladio wraps his hands around Noctis’ thighs and drags him forward, until he sits over Gladio’s erection. Noctis gasps, and then glares at him. 

“I've still got energy.” 

A large part of himself still cannot believe this is  _ Noctis  _ sitting in his lap, and being back in this room together is a potent reminder of everything that has changed. Gladio stares down at the place their bodies connect, like it might help explain the bridge they've built between them. Noctis’ pale thighs spread over his lap, his thin shorts bunched up around them, and he can watch Noctis get hard through the material while he rolls his hips up into him. Now that Noctis’ walls have come down, Gladio finds himself desperate to give him everything he's ever wanted. 

“Here?” Noctis asks, glancing around. 

“Why not?” Gladio asks. “History here.” 

Noctis still looks unconvinced where he sits, but he lazily reaches his hand into his shorts and jerks himself where Gladio cannot see. Gladio opens his mouth and shows Noctis his tongue, rolling his hips up into the waiting friction Noctis supplies. Noctis makes a face of disappointment at him. 

“You get like a big dumb dog when your cock is hard.”

Without warning, Gladio wraps an arm around Noctis’ waist and flips him, wrestling him to his knees. Noctis thrashes beneath him, and Gladio holds his smaller body against his, denying him escape when he struggles. Considering his triumph on mat earlier, it's apparent that Noct isn't really trying. 

“I know your game, Noct,” Gladio tells him, dragging Noctis back beneath him when he tries to crawl away, rutting his cock into his ass when he has him in his hands. “You wanna get fucked like an animal. You want it like I--” he hauls Noct back firmly against his lap once more “--can't help it.”

Suddenly Noctis stops struggling all together and Gladio groans when he presses back, rubbing his ass into Gladio’s waiting arousal. He leans down over Noct,  wrapping himself around his body, their sweat drenched clothes bunched between them. He mouths at Noctis’ neck before dragging his lips to his ear, listening to his panting. 

“That's good,” Gladio says huskily. “Because that's how you make me feel.” 

“Got you trained already,” Noctis answers breathily. 

His arrogance makes Gladio grunt. He humps into Noctis from behind, feeling his little jersey shorts bunch up around his ass while he tries to dig his cock through the layers of fabric, desperate for the feeling of finding his entrance and sliding inside once more. Gladio had suspected what was happening when Noctis had retreated into the darkness last night, but he still could have never expected the way wordlessly penetrating him in the dark would make him feel. Thinking about it now, Gladio has to pull his cock out and pump himself. He's never felt so insatiable before. 

And then again, he's never had  _ Noctis  _ before. 

He strokes himself a few times before dropping his heavy cock on Noctis’ ass, their skin slapping softly. Noctis sighs deeply.

“You can't fuck me here, puppy dog,” he says, and Gladio is delighted to hear the strain in his voice. 

“Wanna,” Gladio grunts into his ear, grinding into Noctis hard enough that his small body rocks on his hands and knees. 

“Take me home and you can get inside me,” he says. 

Gladio groans, pulling away from Noctis just enough to slide a hand under his shorts and underwear, squeeze the meat of his ass, let a curious thumb drift over his entrance. Noctis shudders beneath him. 

“Can't wait,” Gladio says. “Let me in.” 

Noctis groans woefully beneath him. 

“No supplies,” he says, his voice remorseful, but his hips leaning backwards until his ring of muscle spreads just slightly around the pad of Gladio’s thumb. 

Grinning, Gladio proudly says, “I brought lube.” 

Noctis turns around then, looking up at Gladio over his shoulder, his eyes narrowed skeptically, Gladio’s thumb still against him with gentle pressure. His eyes skip down to Gladio’s cock, red and wanting, pressed up against his clothed backside.

“I found it in your bedside drawer,” Gladio says. He grins when Noctis’ mouth falls open and his cheeks go red. “With all six of your dildos. You're a  _ slut, _ Noct.” 

“And you're a  _ bad dog,”  _ Noctis tells him, turning back around. 

“What happens to bad dogs?” Gladio chuckles, popping the bottle of lube open and pulling Noctis’ shorts down over his ass. 

“I haven't decided yet,” Noctis says thoughtfully, lowering himself to his elbows, turning his ass up toward Gladio and Gladio moans at the view. After having to use his imagination last night, the sight makes his cock jump. 

“I can tell how much you want me when you present like that, Noct.” 

Noctis huffs. 

He says, “you talk a lot for a dog.” 

Gladio snaps his mouth shut, but he smirks anyway, watching Noctis’ spread his thighs slightly as the he drizzles the lube over his hole and down through his crack. Gladio growls in the back of his throat when he gets to rut his cock through his slippery ass. 

“Fingers first,” he says and Gladio wants to respond that he isn't the inexperienced one here, but he keeps his mouth obediently shut, slicking his thumb in the wet split of Noctis’ ass before pressing it surely inside. 

Gladio is quiet while he pumps his finger in and out of Noctis, who also lay silent beneath him, offering only the very occasional gasp or sigh to make Gladio’s cock throb. The silence gives him too much time to think, and the creeping suspicion that everything that is happening between them is too much, too soon, begins to worry him again. 

They  _ seem  _ to have the blessings of their friends, but they also aren't privy to the fact that Gladio is planning on fucking Noctis into the floor on Palace property the day of their fathers’ funeral. Maybe they're truly broken beyond repair and are simply acting on delusions driven by their grief. He desperately hopes they do not regret this someday. 

Gladio works Noctis open on one finger, and then two, and he's only inside of him with a third for a few seconds before Noctis lifts up onto his hands and whistles softly.  

“Here, boy.” 

All his reservations dissipate. 

_ Don't forget who owns you,  _ Noctis had said, the tip of his sword pressed to Gladio’s heart. 

He knows. He knows. 

Gladio finds himself frantically mounting Noctis and his cock knows the way, finding his hole and pressing inside without the help of his hand. He falls over him, fucking into him immediately, his hands coming to rest in the ground beside Noct’s. Noctis leans most of his weight on his right arm and Gladio watches when he moves his left hand to lay lightly over Gladio’s. The Ring burns gently where it touches him, but he does not move away.

If Gladio had wanted to talk now, he wouldn't be able to anyway. The pleasure is immense and conclusionary after their fight. Noctis gasps and grunts and leans into it and Gladio strokes into him as deeply as he can. 

“That's it,” Noctis gasps. “Good doggy.” 

His muscles burn from the effort of fucking Noctis and the ass-kicking Noct had given him before. The strain only seems to intensify his pleasure and Gladio tightens his core against it. Noctis cries out as Gladio’s cock hammers against his spot and the sound of it makes Gladio bear down over him and mouth at his neck. Gladio brings a paw to touch Noctis’ impossibly hard dick, but he can only manage to cup his palm around him, his hips moving too erratically quick to allow for any artistry. He licks and drags his teeth to the crook of his neck, growling when Noctis clenches his walls around him.

“Feral,” Noctis manages to say. 

Gladio bites down. 

Noctis yells, but it quickly changes into a low, drawn-out whine and while Gladio licks over the depressions his teeth have left behind, he feels his waiting palm fill with Noctis’ release. Gladio drops his hand to the floor and it slides across the mat. He pounds into Noctis a few more times before he too is releasing with a shout and their bodies fall still. 

For several moments, the men do nothing. Then slowly, Gladio dismounts and Noctis collapses to the mat, rolling onto his hip and sitting up to look at Gladio. His fingers run back and forth over the purple bite mark marring his shoulder. 

“Shit,” Gladio says. “Don't let Ignis see that.”

Gladio can see Noctis grinning before he turns to hide his face. He pulls up his shorts and sits propped up with his elbows behind him, cheeks still flush, lower lip worried red. His t-shirt is askew, clinging to him where he is damp with sweat, his thighs beneath his shorts are shiny with lube. 

“I feel filthy,” Noctis says, glancing around the room. 

“C’mon,” Gladio says, climbing to his feet before reaching towards Noctis, who lets Gladio lift his entire weight with one arm. “Let's go shower.” 

Noctis leans his head around the door to the private shower as Gladio pushes it open. Every training room is equipped with one. 

“Wow,” he says flatly. “I've never been in here before.” 

Gladio laughs, “I know.”

They strip in the small room, standing near each other but not touching. Noctis looks Gladio over with such scrutiny it makes his skin burn.

“Like what you see?” Gladio asks softly. Still, his words echo through the chamber. 

Noct answers, "yeah."

He steps into the water. Gladio watches him tilt his head back into the stream, letting it cascade down his face and chest. Gladio watches it roll down his shoulders and arms, soaking the bandage around his wrist. And as the water caresses his nude body Gladio just gets to stand there and watch, gets to look every inch of him over in the light of day.

Lately, during all of the opportunities he's had to look at him, it's like sometimes he sees Noct, and sometimes he sees someone else. 

Gladio finds himself on his knees. 

The King looks down at him in shock, but he doesn't resist when Gladio reaches for him, wraps his hands around Noct’s thighs and looks up at him through the mist. 

“What are you doing?” he asks. 

“Was an impressive match, ‘Majesty.”

“No  _ Majesty _ ,” Noctis corrects and then, bringing a hand up to pet through and dampen Gladio’s hair, the other hand running aimlessly over the swelling welt in the crook of his neck. 

And since the King won't let him tell him say it, Gladio finds another way to worship Noctis on his knees. Noctis leans both arms on the shower wall,  the sound of his panting echoing through the space while Gladio soothes and cleans Noctis’ stretched hole with his tongue. Water pours over his ears, deafening him, but when Noct cums a second time, Gladio can feel it in his hands where they wrap around his upper thighs and where his face presses into Noctis’ ass. 

Satisfied, Gladio sits back and opens his mouth to the downpour, letting the water clean their flavors from his tongue.  Noctis shakily slides down the wall of the shower until he's sitting in front of Gladio, looking fucked out and weak after a second orgasm. Gladio wonders if this little talent of Noct’s is also the Ring’s doing. Gladio asks him if he's okay, and while he claims to not be crying, still his voice is shaky when he labels it a religious experience. 

Gladio drives home. Noctis leans back against the passenger side door, his arms resting over the car door and the back of the seat. He watches Gladio drive through heavily-lidded eyes. He holds a lit cigarette but does not smoke it, instead letting the wind that dries his hair burn it down. Gladio glances over at him, and he is the picture of leisure where he rests.

“What  _ should  _ I call you?” Gladio asks. “If not  _ Majesty _ .” 

Noctis thinks for a moment and then answers. 

“Master.” 

Through his surprise, Gladio thinks it a little funny. It's almost the same word, but then again, Noctis has always put his own spin on his royalty, and his demonstration on the mat this morning certainly reinforces the title. 

“And you're my pet,” he says. 

His heart drums impossibly loud in his chest, hands tightening on the wheel. Gladio feels his embarrassment all the way in the tips of his ears, but when he glances back in Noctis’ direction, the look of pure affection on his face quiets his soul. 

“That's right,” Gladio says softly, struggling to pull his eyes away from Noctis and back to the road. “I’m your good boy.” 

Back at the apartment, Gladio watches Noctis change his bandage on the kitchen counter. As he peels away the wet dressings, blood begins to seep steadily from the wound. He pulls the wrapping tight to staunch the flow. 

“Ignis doesn't think it'll ever heal,” Noctis tells him. 

“Doesn't seem like you need it to,” Gladio says. 

Noctis throws the the bandages in the kitchen trash, haphazardly wiping at the counter and leaving a sizable smear of blood behind. 

He sleeps for the rest of the day. Gladio is left to restlessly pace the apartment. The sun sets even earlier today, and Gladio watches it anxiously through the window, sitting on the edge of Noctis’ bed while the King sleeps behind him.

Prompto swings by in the afternoon and Gladio seizes the opportunity to go for a run. He tells a groggy Noctis three times he’ll be back soon and leaves him in Prompto’s care. 

It's the first time Gladio has left the apartment without Noctis since the incident. He can sense Noctis’ presence in the apartment like a homing beacon while he circles the block. He runs the perimeter several times, only one thing on his mind: his King’s growing power and his pledge to protect him. 

Gladio returns the apartment an hour later, body sore from what he knows will be an endless pursuit for a strength that will never be enough. 

Prompto steps out quietly. Noctis had fallen back asleep on him. He claps Gladio on the back and whispers, “see ya tonight.”

Half an hour to five, Gladio tries to wake Noctis. When he's unsuccessful, he puts on the suit. 

A quarter til, he tries again, but Noctis snores away, grumbling or weakly batting at Gladio when he leans down to kiss him.

At five, Ignis arrives and Gladio shrugs apologetically from where he sits alone in the kitchen. Sighing, Ignis disappears into Noctis’ room. 

Fifteen minutes later, Ignis emerges. A moment later, Noctis follows. He's in a well-fitted three piece black pinstripe suit, shirt and tie to match. He tugs at the snug collar of the outfit as he steps out into the kitchen, but despite his obvious discomfort, Noctis cuts a striking image. 

“Wow,” Gladio says. 

“His father’s suit,” Ignis says. He reaches forward to move a piece of Noctis’ hair and Noctis swats him away. 

“There will be press,” Ignis warns.

Press there is. As the car drives slows in procession up the streets of Insomnia to the Citadel, Gladio sees camera flashing outside of the windows from media and citizen alike. It is not unlike the day of the wedding in Tenebrae and Gladio keeps a wary eye on Noctis, who looks increasingly uncomfortable the longer it takes to reach the funeral. Noctis has stopped gazing out the window, instead staring down at his nails where he picks at a loose thread at the bottom of his suit jacket. Ignis is too busy typing quickly on his phone, undoubtedly communicating with fellow Lucis employees, to notice that Noctis is sinking farther into himself.

Gladio is terribly aware that the pressure of tonight may send Noctis backwards, back to a place where he isn't smiling, back to a place where death seems preferable to life. Over the past few days Noctis seems to be waking up, facing his duty, finding the strength, but with his Coronation only two days away, Gladio’s worried the reminder of their trauma will send Noctis spiraling. He's nervous for himself too. There are ghosts he has not yet faced.

When they arrive at the Citadel, Gladio and Ignis flank Noctis on either side. Gladio tries to block Noctis from view as best he can but there is not side of them where there are not prying and sympathetic eyes. The whole crowd is dressed in black, and Gladio hears wet sniffles and murmured prayers all around them. Noctis wears it like a punishment, his shoulders slumped and his eyes pinned to the marble steps in front of him as they climb to lay their family and familiars to rest. 

The ceremony takes place in a ceremonial hall, twenty-six large photographs line the wall to represent twenty-six unretrieved bodies, bouquets of flowers surrounding the frames and left in piles on the floor in front of them. King Regis’ portrait is largest in the center, and Gladio sets his shoulders when he sees his father’s portrait seated beside him. Even in death.

The lights are lower than they were when Gladio knelt on the altar's steps to be sworn as Shield when he was sixteen, lower than they were when the King joyously announced the treaty between Insomnia and Niflheim would be forged upon the wedding of his son to the Oracle of Tenebrae. Clusters of candles pepper the hall, symbolizing the spirits that have left them. Gladio has been illustrations of this in his favorite history textbooks. It is surreal to see his family’s portraits among the faces of death. 

The hall is massive, pews stretch back at least one hundred rows, and Noctis, Gladio, Ignis, and Prompto shuffle quietly into the front row.

Noctis isn’t looking at any of the presentation before them, his gaze fixed firmly but unseeingly ahead. He faces the portrait of his father but Gladio is sure he is not seeing it. Gladio wants to know what is turning in his mind, if anything at all. Gladio wants to pull him aside and touch his face and ask him how he can fix the pain.

But Noctis is surprisingly composed for the duration of the ceremony, his back straightens, his small mouth tightened into a impassive line. Noctis sits attentively, flanked by his Crownsguard, and listens to the generic eulogy Cor delivers for the lives lost. 

Cor speaks a little on the legacy of King Regis and Gladio watches Noctis fidget, spinning the Ring around his finger with his thumb, no longer affected by the burn of the power within the stone. 

When they are dismissed to move around the hall, Gladio is immediately drawn to his sister’s portrait. He comes to stand before Iris and breathes deep and with control, lest he break down. Seeing her face fills him with sorrow. And though she would never ask for the apology, Gladio finds himself speaking to her portrait, hoping if he says it aloud, perhaps the guilt will stop rattling around his head. 

“I’m sorry, Iris,” he says quietly. “That I had to choose his life over yours.” 

She stares back at him with the silence of the dead but, Gladio can still imagine her voice.

_ Protecting Prince Noct is your job, Gladdy! _

“It is,” he whispers. “I just wish you would have run, I wish you hadn’t made yourself a martyr.” 

_ The Amicitia  _ are _ martyrs, Gladdy. It’s what we do. _

“Gladiolus.”

Jared’s voice hits Gladio like a punch to the gut. He turns around slowly to face his long-time caregiver, the man that had been serving his family since before his birth. Looking down at his familiar face, Gladio almost loses his carefully held composure.

“Gladio,” he says gently. “Come sit with me.” 

Gladio follows Jared to an empty bench where no one will listen to them and they sit beside each other, facing out at the rest of the hall. Gladio’s stomach twists with guilt, afraid of the words Jared will say to him. He hadn’t even called Jared or Talcott since the incident. At first, he was too afraid of having to face his sadness, and then he just put it away, let himself get distracted by other things. For the first time, Gladio understands what Ignis means when he says Noctis “compartmentalizes.” He forces himself to sit beside Jared, although he really just wants to run.

“Where have you been staying?”

“With No-- His Majesty,” he answers.

“Your father would be proud of you, Gladio.”

Gladio sighs. He thinks about the last time he saw his father alive. Sword drawn, pressing his back to Gladio’s, defending him for long enough that Gladio could run to Noctis’ aid, to save his Prince. Mere minutes later, he would be looking down at his pale and bloodless corpse where he lay beside the assassinated King. 

“Did you know, Jared?” Gladio asks. 

Jared sighs, “Not exactly.”

“Why did he let Iris come with us?”

“She… demanded. Iris… above everyone else,  _ Iris _ was the one who seemed to know something was amiss. She wouldn't leave you and your father. We couldn't make her stay.”

Gladio is silent. 

“I know it is hard to reconcile King Regis’ choice, but you should know that your father was honored to die for him that day. Despite the burden of their roles, they lived many happy years in each other’s company.”

Gladio turns to face him then, studying his eyes. 

“Jared,” he asks, “why didn't anyone tell me about my father and the King?” 

Jared just shakes his head. 

“It's better to let a Shield figure it out on their own.”

He continues, “A Shield’s job is not just to protect the King, but to instill in him the  _ desire _ to be protected. The Lucis men have always had a proclivity for death. It's why the Skull was chosen as their symbol a thousand years ago. The Amicitia line long ago pledged themselves not just to protect the King’s life, but to provide a path through which to live it. When a Lucis leans towards his grave, it is the Amicitia’s job to lift them up. That's what your wings are for.”

Gladio listens to him intently, but his eyes follow Noctis as he slowly shuffles a circle around the room, looking into the faces of every perished Glaive displayed before him. Gladio fights back the urge to adhere to his side. Ignis is not too far behind, keeping a watchful eye on Noctis even as he makes polite conversation with those dignitaries seeking to speak a few words with the King-to-be. Gladio can see the closed off sorrow in Noctis. He looks like the portraits he moves through. Gladio longs to run for him.

“Do you understand what I'm saying, Gladio? It is your job to be his. To be whatever King Noctis needs you to be. To give him the purpose when he is unable to see it himself. To give him a reason to continue until his objective is complete.” 

“I understand.” 

Jared’s hand rests on his thigh, jarring Glado into looking back into the face he has been too afraid to look at.

“Come home soon, son. It will help you heal.” 

When Jared moves on to pay his respects, Gladio returns firmly to Noctis’ side. Noctis doesn’t acknowledge him other than to briefly run his knuckles against Gladio’s forearm. They come to stop before Luna’s image. Noctis reaches a finger out and lights a candle before falling still staring into her eyes. Gladio watches his tender expression out of the corner of his eye, wary that staring will be misinterpreted. 

After a long time, Noctis speaks. 

“I loved her. Probably not in the right way, but I did love her. From the moment we met. I was little and injured and scared and she was older and braver and beautiful and I fell in love. It would have never worked out. I was so afraid of the real person ruining the perfect image I had of her in my memory. She was perfect there, in my dreams. I prefer to remember her like that.”

Gladio is looking down at Noctis while he speaks, and he stares at her image for several moments longer before he tears his eyes away to look up at his Shield. 

“I'm going to avenge her, Gladio. With you by my side.” 

Hearing Noctis turn his anger on Niflheim, instead of his father, instead of himself, sends a jolt of anxiety through Gladio. In one sentence, his fortune foretold. 

Noctis looks back down the row of pictures. 

“So many…” he murmurs so softly, Gladio nearly misses it. 

He follows Noctis back to the top of the hall and they come to stand before their fathers. For a long time, they do nothing but silently mirror the portraits, staring back at the images of their patriarchs, the two men that set them forth on a bloody and irreversible path. Two men, that as Gladio just learned this morning,  _ loved each other _ , all the way until the end. 

Prompto and Ignis appear at their sides, but do nothing besides offer their presence. 

Clarus Amicitia and King Regis made the decision together to give their war to their sons, whether Noctis and Gladio wanted it or not. 

But they also gave them each other. 

Gladio turns to face Noctis now, and he looks down at him. As far as irreversible fates go, Gladio is just grateful he’s not alone. Noctis’ eyes remain locked on his father’s but he raises his left hand and touches his knuckles to the back of Gladio’s hand again, a small gesture Gladio savors at the dawn of their war. The Ring bites sharply into Gladio’s skin and he does not flinch.

“We’re going to take out that base in Hammerhead,” Noctis suddenly says. 

Gladio is still looking at him, and he can feel Ignis and Prompto turn to the do the same. Noctis does not look at them. Gladio wonders what he's thinking.

“Before the Coronation.”

“That’s only two days away!” Prompto says in shock. 

“Tomorrow, after the sun sets.” 

“Are you certain this is what you want?” Ignis asks. 

Adrenaline pumps through Gladio’s veins as he looks down at Noctis, but already he can tell the King has made up his mind, his shoulders straight, his unwavering gaze still locked on his predecessor, so he does not try to change his mind. It is his job to support Noct on whatever mission he takes, whatever path of life he chooses to live, be it a quiet one or a bloody one. He finds irrepressible peace coming to that conclusion. 

“Your Majesty,” Ignis says. “That would be Lucis’ first offensive attack on Niflheim. It would be considered a Declaration of War.” 

“Right,” Noctis says. He brings his left hand to his shoulder, fingers dipping beneath the collar of his shirt to absent-mindedly rub at the bite mark Gladio left behind. And then, “you heard me.” 

There is a long moment where none of them say anything, and then Ignis sighs, reaching into his pocket and handing Gladio the keys to the Regalia. 

“Alright then,” Ignis says, already turning his eyes to his phone. “I must depart. There is considerable planning to do. I will be in touch.” 

“I’m ready to go home too,” Noctis says. Finally, he tears his eyes away from his reflection and faces Gladio, looking up at him for a moment before turning around to face Prompto, who looks shaken by Noctis’ decision. Gladio doesn't fear death, has had years of preparation over their friend. He can only imagine what Prompto is feeling. Noctis puts a hand on his shoulder. 

“Hey Prom, come stay with us tonight,” he says. 

“Yeah… yeah. I’d appreciate that. Thanks,” Prompto says, his hand sliding beneath his shirt to rest over his concealed pistol. 

Noctis drives them home. 

On the balcony, Noctis and Prompto smoke cigarettes. Gladio watches them as they light four paper lanterns and send them sailing over Insomnia, into the night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading ^^
> 
> special thanks to beforethequeen for helping me with setting the funeral scene!


	8. Chapter 8

_30 hour until the crowning_

The next morning, Noctis leans over the railing of his balcony watching Prompto and Gladio circle the block below him. They had told him ten times before leaving on their run that he should stay put, in the apartment. It makes him feel a little bit like a princess in a tower, but it's not like he was planning on leaving anyway.

His phone rings. He knows it's Ignis based on the personalized ringtone, so he moves his cigarette to his less useful left hand and answers with his right. 

“Hey.”

“Good morning, Your Majesty.” 

Noctis hums in response, dragging on his cigarette. 

“I need Gladio and you to come to the Citadel so we may go over the plan for tonight.” 

“He and Prompto are on a run,” Noctis tells him, watching the men pad past the apartment window a third time. Prompto looks up and waves. 

“Splendid, he was my next call. All three of you come by as soon as you're able.” 

“Kay,” Noctis answers, blowing smoke out into the sky before letting the used butt of his cigarette fall to the street. 

“And Noct?” Ignis says through the phone.

“Yeah?” 

“Don't show up smelling like cigarettes.” 

Noctis hangs up. 

He retreats to the shower. 

Undressing slowly, Noctis watches himself in the floor length mirror. He has never spent a lot of time studying his reflection, certainly not his own naked body, but now he has someone looking at him and he's curious as to what Gladio sees. 

He's a little thin, but that'll improve with a return to training. He's got a few bruises from their match yesterday and Noctis smiles to himself in satisfaction. It had been a good fight. 

Looking in the mirror, he's always thought he was small. Not tall enough, not broad enough. A childhood of chasing Gladio’s strength, watching him grow impossibly large only tortured him with feelings of inadequacy, the notion that maybe Gladio should be the Heir Apparent instead. 

He doesn't exactly feel small anymore. Not in the same way. The better he got at fighting, the more he understood his size as an advantage, and recent events brought on another transformation. After taking Gladio, seeing and feeling him cum, Noctis feels like somehow in those depraved acts, Gladio is lending himself to Noctis, giving him his strength. Noctis had resigned himself to never having sex, at least not the kind he longed for, and he had no way of anticipating how different he would feel as a person, as a King, after losing his virginity. Intimacy with Gladio seems capable of making him feel small and powerful at the same time. 

He's not sure he’ll ever get enough of that feeling. 

He can hear Prompto and Gladio return to the apartment. He turns the water on so they will not come looking for him. 

Coming back to the mirror, his fingers come up to trace the bite mark at the base of his neck. He touches it a lot, likes the way it feels beneath his fingers. Leaning into the mirror, he studies it. Gladio hadn't broken the skin. He wonders if it would have scarred, if he had. 

Noctis unwraps his left wrist, letting the gauze fall into the trash. He looks at the wound briefly before letting his hand fall. His wrists bleeds slowly, red lines of blood rolling down over his knuckles. 

It's odd, but he's incredibly fond of the wounds Gladio has inflicted on him. He wonders if Gladio feels similarly about the scar he earned defending Noctis on that night. Gladio’s wound is so visible. Does he like being branded? He will be forever marred, his face divided by his life before Noctis was the King, and their life now. 

This new life of Gladio’s, Noctis knows, circles entirely around himself. Symbolically and physically, noting the way Gladio will only run around the perimeter of the block they live on. He can see Gladio now as he did yesterday, on his knees in the shower, looking up at Noctis with such devotion in his eyes that Noctis knew in that moment that Gladio would do anything for him. 

And if he had needed more confirmation, immediately after, Gladio put his tongue inside of Noctis’ ass, and nothing had ever felt that good, not in his entire life. 

Noctis steps into the water and shuts his eyes, letting the heat soak his hair and cascade down his body. 

Maybe he's misconstruing sexual confidence for the confidence to lead, but Noctis is willing to keep making the mistake. He had been so angry last night, looking at his father’s image. He'd kept himself composed for Ignis’ sake and come sunrise, Noctis was regretting the impulsive decision to launch an attack when he could have just pitched a fit and stormed out of the Funeral instead. 

But then Gladio had emerged hulking and huge from his bathroom, naked as a beast. Finding Noctis awake, Gladio had crossed the room to place a kiss on his lips and Noctis had the succinct thought that if he could conquer Gladio, nothing was out of reach. 

There are two possible outcomes. Either they successfully take out the base, declaring war and establishing Noctis as an actionable and decisive leader, or they fail, and Noctis is rewarded the sweet release of death. There will be no in between. 

He steps out of the shower and dries himself, leaving watery drops of blood along the tile as he goes. Looking himself in the mirror again, Noctis tries to imagine what sort of King he wants to be. He doesn't come to any solid conclusions. 

When he’s finished wrapping his wrist and getting dressed, he walks into the kitchen and finds Gladio and Prompto still sweaty in their joggers, shoveling spoons into their mouths, the open milk and box of cereal on the counter. 

“Hey, guys,” he greets.

They both look up at him in mild shock to see him clean and dressed and Noctis rolls his eyes away from them, gazing out the window when he speaks. 

“We need to head down to the Citadel, meet with Ignis about the game plan tonight. We can leave whenever you're ready.” 

Noctis does not look at them, but he can feel their uncertainty as they set down their bowls and rise. He waits in the kitchen while the guys get dressed, feeling awkward and uncomfortable and his lips itch with the desire to light a cigarette. He is just about to say fuck it to his shower and slip out onto the balcony when Gladio emerges from the bedroom. 

He's wearing a pair of dark grey jeans, a little worn but still nice enough for the Palace, a black studded belt around his waist. He has on a navy blue button up, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the feathers of his wings emerging from them and snaking over his forearms, the beak of the eagle just visible where a few buttons are opened at his chest. He's probably growing out of it, as he inevitably does all of his clothes. He wears his ballcap, and it'll have to come off before they get to their meeting, but it's fine for the drive. He wears a pair of black leather boots, pointed at the toe, and the heel makes him even taller. Noctis likes the sheepish way he smiles while he looks him over. 

“Jared brought some of my things by while you were still asleep,” Gladio tells him. 

“You look nice,” Noctis says, and he means it. 

Gladio approaches him and as always, the closer Gladio gets, the more Noctis has to look up to see him. 

“Will you do something for me today?” 

Noctis narrows his eyes skeptically up at him, pulling his away from where Gladio had begun to reach for him. 

“I want to go back home,” Gladio says. 

Noctis looks up at Gladio, confused, and he hadn’t thought about Gladio leaving at all, not since the first few days when Gladio told him repeatedly he’d stay by his side. Of course the promise would run thin, he thinks. Heat flares in Noctis, flooding bitterly from his gut, he can feel it creep into his face and the finger where he wears the Ring. He looks sharply to the floor, feeling foolish for sting of rejection. 

“Not to stay!” Gladio quickly corrects, seeing his expression. “I just need to visit, to… say goodbye.”

Noctis relaxes, looking back up at him in relief and trying to shake off the emotions he found so close to the surface. 

“I just want your company, I don't think I can handle it alone. Plus,” he adds, stooping down to kiss Noctis’ cheek, “I like to keep an eye on you.” 

Noctis swats him away. 

“Yeah, of course I’ll go with you,” Noctis tells him. 

Gladio smiles softly, and this time when he reaches out to touch, Noctis lets him. Gladio lays his hand on his shoulder and squeezes gently. 

Prompto emerges from Noctis’ bedroom in borrowed clothes. 

Noctis drives them to the Palace. As angry as he still feels towards his father, he can't help but feel a sense of connection to him when he drives his car. He looks at his hands on the wheel, at his Ring glinting in the sunlight, at the rolling road before him. Gladio and Prompto are quiet, the reality of the day setting in. He wishes he could ask his father how he coped with burden he must put on his friends. 

The meeting is surreal. Cor and Ignis have done a lot of work. There are maps, and photographs provided by a team of Glaives that scouted the location. Ignis briefs them on their plan of attack. Prompto taps a pen nervously on the edge of the table while he speaks and the rhythm of his anxiety starts to chew at Noctis’ composure. He gets restless in his seat and just like it had two days before, Gladio’s hand finds his thigh beneath the table.

Noctis steals a glance at him and is both surprised and comforted by the look of peaceful obedience on his Shield’s face. If his watchdog of a boyfriend doesn’t seemed worried about the mission, Noctis can pretend he isn’t either. 

_Not a boyfriend,_ he thinks, his eyes tracing the line of his scar. _A Shield._

“We will take the Regalia, it will be inconspicuous enough. We will leave at twenty-two hundred hours. The base should be weakly staffed by then. The goal is not to kill Nifs, although don't withhold if you are in danger. We go in, disable the power generator, and get out. It will take them weeks to rebuild or relocate to another base. It should give us ample time to plan a large scale defense of the Crown City.” 

Ignis seems satisfied. Noctis knows he's in his element as a tactician, but he also just seems pleased at the idea of launching an attack, or maybe he's just pleased Noctis is behaving like a King. Regardless, his confidence bolsters Noctis even further and his fingers tingle with the desire to call his sword. He hears his adviser, the mission is not to slaughter, but Noctis promises himself to kill a few, just because he's angry, just because he can. Ever since the wedding, the massacre, the seal has been broken. Noctis has tasted enemy blood. 

“If we stick together, as a Crownsguard,” Ignis says, “we’ll be just fine. Do you have any questions?” 

Prompto says “a million” at the same time that Noctis says “no.” 

Prompto stays behind with Cor to be further informed and Ignis walks with Gladio and Noctis to Fittings. Or rather, Ignis claims to be walking them to the car, and instead walks them to Fittings. 

“Come on,” Noctis moans at the door. 

“We just need to fit your fatigues,” Ignis sighs. “You can’t go on an offensive in sweatpants.” 

Noctis turns to walk away and glares up at Gladio where he blocks his path. Ignis grabs him by the upper arm and walks him into the room. 

Noctis looks away as long as possible, but finally, he has to acknowledge the mannequins set up in front of them. There are four of them, very obviously sized for each member of the Crownsguard. Noctis stares straight ahead at the mannequin that belongs to him, at the clothes it wears. 

“Something you can fight in,” Ignis says. 

Gladio chuckles, “a t-shirt and shorts.” 

He actually loves it, but it doesn’t want to admit it, so Noctis tries his best not to smile while he touches the soft leather of his fatigues. 

“Here’s the best part,” Ignis says, and Noctis turns to face him. 

Ignis produces a glove and reaches for Noctis’ left arm. He lets him take it, watching Ignis’ face intently while he’s focused on the task of wrapping his injured wrist firmly in leather and fastening the glove to his hand. Noctis’s eyes trace the edge his glasses and then through, to watch his turquoise eyes. Not for the first time, Noctis finds himself thinking that he would be nothing without him. 

“Pressure for the wound,” Ignis says, and then tapping his knuckles on the plated surface of the glove, “armor to protect the Ring hand,” and dragging two fingers over the thick sueded palm of it he says, “let’s you grab the blade.” 

Noctis finally tears his eyes away from Ignis’ face to study his arm in the glove. He makes a fist, twists his arm and punches it with his other hand. 

Grinning, he looks at each of the outfits on display and then with satisfaction he says, Ddefinitely not uniforms. Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome.” 

This time, Ignis does walk them to the car. He claps them both on the back and looks down at Noctis. 

“Are you ready for this, Noct?”

“Ready as I’m gonna be,” Noctis says, shrugging out from under his hand. 

“He’s ready,” Gladio answers. 

Noctis’ eyes snap to study him, surprised by the response. What does Gladio see in him that Noctis doesn’t see in himself? 

Still, it hardly matters. They’ll either succeed or they’ll perish, and Noctis still hasn’t decided which option is the better one, but the Ring on his finger burns hotter with every earlier setting sun. They’re running out of time. 

Ignis seems contented by Gladio’s assurance, and he bids them farewell. 

Gladio drives. He lowers the top when Noctis opens the window to smoke. The silence is comfortable. 

Watching Gladio drive his father's car fills Noctis with a sudden urge to touch him, and he does, leaning forward and laying his hand on Gladio’s bicep. Gladio steals a glance at him, meeting Noctis’ eyes for a moment before turning his attention back to the road. It sort of stuns Noctis that he can just touch Gladio whenever he wants to and probably in whatever ways he could think of. 

He prods through the shirt to feel Gladio’s muscles, and Gladio flexes for him. Noctis rolls his eyes but he squeezes his arm in his hand regardless. Sliding his fingers down to his elbow, where the shirt is rolled up, Noctis dips his fingertips below the material and attempts to push it up further, but he is not granted with the view he wants. He decidedly prefers Gladio with less clothing. 

Gladio smirks at the road. 

Noctis is disappointed to see the expression fade as they turn into the driveway leading to the Amicitia property at the edge of Citadel property. Gladio’s face falls as he parks the Regalia in front of the house. Noctis’ hand falls away from him. 

Gladio is mechanical as he tries the doorknob. It’s locked. Noctis has been to the Amicitia house only a handful of times, and watching Gladio lift a ceramic planter on the front porch to fetch a spare key reminds Noctis that this was his _home._

He can hear himself again, smoking on the balcony on the first night, telling Gladio he had nothing to go home to. Noctis cringes inwardly, following Gladio into the foyer. He wonders if Gladio wanted to come back here but didn’t for some reason related to Noctis.

Or maybe he just wasn’t ready to face it, Noctis thinks, seeing the shake in Gladio’s hands as he shuts the door behind them, the way he’s wincing against the need to cry. 

He’s lost a lot. 

In an attempt to remind him of the one thing he’s gained, Noctis gently tucks his bandaged wrist against Gladio’s side, wrapping his hand lightly around his upper arm. Gladio lays his hand over his without looking at him and Noctis notices that he doesn’t flinch away anymore when the Ring makes contact with his skin. 

Gladio takes a deep breath and leads Noctis down the hall. 

He’s never come into Gladio’s house from the front door before, and he’s surprised by the long formal hallway lined with paintings, and then later photos, of past Lucian Kings and their Amicitia Shields. Noctis had seen a lot of these images in his studies, but never like this: huge, in person, repeating for generations. His eyes track only the Shields in the images. Everyone one of them was born into the nonnegotiable pledge of one person. A pledge to protect, and to serve, and to… 

Noctis looks up at Gladio, who stares straight ahead beneath the brim of his ballcap. Noctis’ eyes drift back to the photos. 

With every frame they pass, the Shields seem to grow taller and broader, stronger and more brutish, like they were being selectively bred for their purpose, like it was generations of planning that led to massive beast that is Gladio, his Shield. Gladio doesn’t just belong to him now, he belonged to him for a thousand years before they were born.

Noctis squeezes his arm in his hand, misplacing a sudden jolt of possession, but Gladio doesn’t seem to mind. 

They come to the end of the hall and pause briefly at the photos of their fathers, but both sets of eyes fall to the picture of Iris that Jared has hung beside it. 

“I’m sorry,” Noctis says.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Gladio says softly. 

It _was_ his fault, but it’s not worth the fight to argue it. 

Gladio leads him up the stairs. Although Gladio still holds his left arm, it starts to feel incredibly heavy. He frowns down at it, wiggles his fingers against the bite of the Ring. Gladio looks in at him in concern as they come to the second level. He pulls his hand away from Noctis and lets him take his arm. Noctis presses it against his chest, sneering. 

“You okay?”

“Something’s up,” Noctis says. “They’re touching the wall.” 

“What do you need?” Gladio asks. 

He responds, “A quiet place to lay down and an hour by myself.” 

Gladio looks reluctant, but he doesn’t argue. Feeling worse by the second, Noctis walks towards the first door in the hallway and grabs the doorknob, pulling it open.

“Is there a bed in here?” 

“Yeah,” Gladio answers. “Dad’s room.” 

Sweating, Noctis shucks his button up and lets it fall to the floor, kicking out of his shoes and climbing onto the large bed in the center of the room, wearing just his jeans and an undershirt. He holds his Ring hand above his face, glaring at it as the metal pulses and sears against his skin. He groans audibly, wiping at a bead of sweat that trickles down his temple. 

“Noct…” Gladio says in concern. 

“I’m okay,” he assures him. “Just... come check on me in an hour.” 

Gladio hesitates. 

“Get,” Noctis groans, and Gladio obeys, backing out of his father’s bedroom and shutting the door. 

Relieved to be alone, Noctis rolls onto his stomach and lays his aching arm out on the bed. It doesn’t feel as bad as last time. Maybe only a few teks investigating the wall, but he can feel their intrusion in his finger and in his chest, squeezing his lungs like he cannot breathe until he’s dealt with them. He feels a little sorry for having to shoo Gladio away, leave him alone in his temple of ghosts, but the last time he did this, Noctis sobbed dryly into his pillows the entire time and he at least wants to continue the illusion that he can handle the pain associated with his duty. He trusts that Gladio is strong enough to handle his. 

Noctis doesn’t exactly know what he’s doing, so he just sticks with what he did the time before. He closes his eyes and instead of trying to ignore the pain in his hand, he focuses on it, feeling his heartbeat knocking inside of his Ring finger, waves of burning pain washing up to his wrist with each pulse. 

And he lets himself think about the one thing that makes him angrier than anything else: his father, sacrificing Luna, so that Noctis may live instead. 

Noctis’ hand jumps away from a flare of pain, but he cannot escape it. He buries his face in the pillows and lets them swallow his cry. 

It just seemed like the wrong choice, to Noctis. Luna would have made a thousand times a better monarch than he; she was poised, eloquent, intelligent. She _cared._ All things Noctis never managed to master. It seems so selfish that his father chose him, the continually unimpressive Crown Prince, rather than the Oracle, with the Astrals on her side. 

And worse than that, Luna loved life, saw the beauty in her waking life that Noctis was only ever to find in his dreams. Noctis had been the one that wanted to die that night, but his father took that from him, made the choice that he was done fighting, and forced his only son to pick up the reins. 

It wasn’t fair. 

It wasn’t fair. 

_It isn’t fair._

What was he supposed to do now? The Ring crackles against his burning flesh and Noctis bites the pillow, fantasizing that whoever is on the other side of the wall is melting from their bones. And if they do manage to beat back Niflheim, then what? Is the mission to control all of Eos? Does he even want that? How long can he withstand the burden of Ring? How could his father knowingly give him his pain? Noctis feels like he would never be able to pass this pain onto a child... a child, an heir. Is he supposed to find a new wife to replace the one his father killed? 

Gladio had almost gifted him a way out of this prison too. He’d felt himself growing lighter with every liter of blood he lost, death approaching him like a friend with outstretched arms. Because of the way the Ring leeches life from him, the wound will never heal, will always bleed. Noctis would love Gladio forever in the emptiness of his afterlife for giving him the only thing he’d ever truly desired-- release. 

All he’d have to do is unwrap his wrist. 

But after only fifteen minutes, the exquisite pain of powering the wall fades, each wave of it slightly less than the one before, and as the tide retreats, it takes with it his desire to die. He breathes deeply into the the pillow, one shuddering breath after enough while his heartbeat steadies. 

It smells like Gladio. 

His arm goes numb, and he savors it knowing it will be a temporary reprieve. Slowly, Noctis rolls onto his back. He stares up at the ceiling for a few more moments before letting his eyes comb over the room. _Clarus’_ room. He had been in a blind hurry when the pain onset, and now he’s only just realizing he’s laying in Gladio’s father’s bed. He sits up on his elbows, studying some twenty framed photos crowded onto an ornate dresser. Photos of Gladio and Iris at all ages, with swords, with diplomas, photos of Clarus and Regis as teens, as young men, as King and Shield, a few of Noctis, small, in his father’s arms, a few of Noctis and Gladio sparring that he has never seen. 

All of the people Clarus had loved. 

There is a single framed picture on the bedside table, and Noctis turns to look at it. He is startled to see it is a picture of his father, probably in his late twenties, sitting on his recently acquired throne, looking the most like Noctis he has ever seen him, in the lazy way he leans to the side and the way he wears his overgrown hair in his eyes. 

A polished silver frame encases the image, embossed with the phrase: 

_Yours to protect, to serve, to love_

And beneath that: 

_Shield the King_

Suddenly, Noctis is struck with the feeling that he’s supposed to be here right now, like it was somehow written that he was going to end up in this room, sitting on this bed, staring at this photograph. Behind the shut bedroom door, Noctis hears the sound of Gladio sitting down in the hallway. The door creaks as his mass settles against it and Noctis realizes he’s just going to wait there, like that, for another forty-five minutes. 

“Gladio,” he calls. 

Gladio is up and the door open in a moment. He looks instantly relieved to see Noctis upright. 

“Wasn’t too bad,” Noctis tells him, shaking his numb arm slightly. “It’s under control for now.” 

Gladio steps through the door. He’s shouldering a backpack he didn’t come here with. He’s turned his hat backwards. He shuts it behind him, glancing around the room. 

“You alright?” Noctis asks.

“Yeah,” Gladio says. “Talked to Iris for a while. Said hi to Jared. Grabbed some things.” 

“Sorry I couldn’t…” he gestures, _be there for you._

Gladio just shakes his head, his expression unreadable. Halfway into the room, he stops walking. He’s staring at Noctis on the bed, and so Noctis looks away from him to study the photographs once more. He hears Gladio set the backpack down, but he doesn’t start walking again. He just stands there, looking at Noctis while Noctis looks at the photos on the dresser. His eyes keep drifting back to the same picture of his father and Clarus, sitting on the hood of the Regalia, a campfire illuminating them from the side. Probably the same age as Noctis and Gladio are now. Their arms are around each other. They are smiling. 

“Noct.” 

Noctis turns to face him, and Gladio is still frozen in place, his face wrinkled with thought. 

“What’s wrong?” Noctis asks him. 

“I should tell you something,” Gladio says. 

“What?” Noctis asks, a pit of dread forming in his stomach. “What happened?” 

“Nothing,” Gladio says. “Nothing new, at least.” 

Noctis narrows his eyes. 

“Get on with it!” he snaps. 

Gladio sighs, and this time he’s the one to look away. 

“Noct… our fathers,” he begins, and he can hear in Gladio’s voice how difficult it is for him to find the words. His gaze swings back to the firelit photo of them, not wanting to watch Gladio struggle. “They were… together. Or I guess, like… us. Whatever we are.” 

With a definite click, Noctis feels the jigsaw of his life fall into place. He stares at the photo for several moments longer, and then he smiles to himself. 

“What do you mean?” he asks, looking back at Gladio. “A King and Shield?” 

“No,” Gladio grunts. “Not just, ya know…” 

“I don’t get it,” Noctis feigns. “Comrades? Very good friends?”

The moment Gladio realizes Noctis is messing with him, his expression transforms. Relief and then irritation cross his face and he takes a few more steps towards him.

“You’re just being a little shit,” Gladio says. “Did you know?”

“No,” Noctis says. “Did you?”

“Ignis told me yesterday.” 

“Huh,” Noctis says.

“I thought you’d be more surprised,” Gladio admits, coming to stand in front of Noctis where he sits on Clarus’ bed. 

Noctis shrugs. 

“I dunno,” Noctis says, looking up at him. “It makes sense.” 

Gladio looks down at him for a moment and knows exactly what Noctis is feeling. He doesn’t _have_ to say it; his face of full of love. 

Gladio kisses him. It was intended to be brief, but Noctis grabs the back of his head and knocks off his hat, cinching his fingers in his hair, holding his mouth against his, keeping Gladio bent over the bed. He lays back, wanting Gladio over him, and his Shield follows him, knees coming up onto the bed, an arm sliding beneath Noctis’ back so he may drag his body properly onto the mattress, pulling his feet off the floor. 

The kiss breaks as Gladio’s mouth falls to Noctis’ neck, burying his face there, breathing in and out deeply while he places kisses down his throat and over the still prominent bite mark beside his shoulder. Noctis stares up at the ornate ceiling, loosening his fingers in his hair and scratching Gladio’s scalp instead. 

“Do you think they ever fucked in this bed?” Noctis asks, wondering if he and his father have both shared the same view of this ceiling from beneath the weight of their Shield. 

“Definitely,” Gladio says, sounding a little disappointed where he speaks into Noctis’ neck. Noctis laughs. 

“Your dad was here a lot,” Gladio says, “especially towards the end. I hardly saw him though,” he says, pulling away to look down at Noctis on the bed. “You know, while he was here, I was at yours.” 

Noctis hums in contemplation, absently stroking Gladio’s arms where he’s propped up over him. Noctis still feels residual anger for Luna and Iris’ deaths… but there are some things, he supposes, that he does forgive his father for. 

A King never asks to be the King. 

And it would be irresponsible and selfish for Noctis to seek the release of death right now, but there is a different kind of release that has been gifted to him. 

Blue meets amber. 

For the first time, Noctis realizes that he wants to secure another sunrise. If it means another day with him. Noctis brings his right hand up to tentatively to lay over the left side of Gladio’s face, his thumb gently stroking his scar. Without breaking their eye contact, Gladio turns his cheek to kiss Noctis’ palm. 

“Lay down,” Noctis says. 

Gladio shifts off of him and kicks off his shoes, laying down in his father’s bed with a curious expression on his face. Noctis crawls on top of him and lays his bodyweight on him. Gladio sighs contentedly, bringing an arm around wrap around Noctis’ lower back. For a few lazy moments, Gladio lets Noctis kiss his mouth and beard and neck and Noctis watches his eyes fall shut.

A nap does sound good, but a need started to grow in Noctis the second he learned about his father’s relationship with his own Shield. Like he was suddenly granted the permission to take ownership of these desires he has. Like Gladio had been _given_ to him, to touch, to use. With his smaller body perched atop Gladio’s broad frame, Noctis cannot help but grind down into his thigh as he his cock starts to harden. Gladio opens his eyes and looks down at Noctis, who does not look away, still rolling his hips down into the thick waiting muscle of Gladio’s upper thigh.

“Here?” Gladio asks, eyes skipping around his late father’s bedroom. 

“ _Why not?_ ” Noctis mimics Gladio from the last time, in their training room. “ _History here._ ” 

Gladio grunts at the feeling of Noctis rutting against him, but he doesn’t look convinced, unmoving and stiff in his clothes. 

“You said you belonged to me,” Noctis huffs. 

“I do,” Gladio nods, apologetically. 

“You said you were my good boy,” Noctis says and he immediately feels drunk on the way Gladio’s pupils blow wide in response. 

“I am,” the Shield breathes. 

Noctis sits up, straddling the widest part of his thighs. His hands fall to Gladio’s belt and he gasps slightly as Noctis quickly unfastens it and begins to pull it from the loops. It’s not the same belt Gladio used to tourniquet his arm, but Noctis appreciates the symbolism anyway. He can see Gladio’s cock reaching for him through the restriction of his jeans and the sight makes him smirk. 

“Just… do as your master says, okay?”

Gladio nods. 

With the belt in his left hand, Noctis uses his right hand to place each of Gladio’s hands above him in the bed. He loops the belt around his wrists and buckles it through the twisting bars of the headboard. Gladio gives his wrists a tug and grunts to himself when he cannot pull his hands free. He likes him like this, a little reluctant and uncomfortable in his father’s bed, but obviously aroused and dutifully obedient… or maybe that’s just the fact that he’s bound. Noctis smiles. He trails his hands down Gladio’s elevated arms and brings them to his collar, swiftly unbuttoning his shirt and pushing it open to complete the picture. 

Gladio’s naked chest heaves beneath Noctis’ hands. The amber in his eyes has been entirely replaced with darkness. Noctis’ eyes skim over the hard muscle of his stomach, over his thick chest and back down, following the trail of dark hair that dips inside Gladio’s waistband. Noctis unfastens his jeans, and reaches his hand in to untuck Gladio’s heavy cock. 

Gladio _whines._

Noctis leans over him, loving the eager way Gladio’s arousal bumps against his stomach while he does. He yanks open the bedside table and immediately locates a bottle of lube. He laughs. Gladio looks horrified. Noctis is further amused and equally disappointed to find the bottle empty.

“Tell me where I can find lube,” Noctis says. 

“My bedroom. Right beside table,” he pants, “second drawer. Condoms and lube.” 

Noctis makes a face, “No condom.” 

“Makes cleanup easier,” Gladio says, trying to sit up and then just craning his neck to peer at Noctis when he remembers he cannot. 

“That’s not what I want,” Noctis replies, ignoring Gladio’s expression as he slides off of his body. Standing beside the bed, he pets Gladio’s cock a few times and Gladio moans. 

“Stay,” Noctis tells him, and Gladio is laughing in disbelief as he slips out the bedroom door. 

Three steps down the hallway, Noctis hears, “Your Majesty.” 

He turns around and winds up face to face with Jared. Jared bows only slightly, knowing Noctis well enough. 

“Jared, good to see you,” Noctis says, hopefully cooly. “Sorry we didn’t get a chance to catch up last night.” 

“Nonsense, you don’t have to apologize to me. You’ve got bigger things on your plate as the King than worrying about me. I just wanted to say hello and send you my love. If there’s anything you need at all, let me know.” 

“I will,” Noctis tells him. 

“How’s Gladio?” Jared implores. 

Noctis has to look away from him, twisting his mouth to the side in an attempt not to smile at the question. 

“He’s doing well,” Noctis promises him. “He’s a good Shield.” 

“You’ll make a great team,” Jared says. “I’ll leave you be, but come find me downstairs if you need anything.”

Just as Jared turns to leave, he stops briefly and points at Noctis. 

“I’ve already told him, but the manor is in his name now and I will stay here to tend it. I have to admit it’s a little lonely, with just me and Talcott. You boys are welcome to stay here whenever you want to. It’s closer to the Palace!” he pitches as he begins to descend the stairs. “Room for children!” 

Noctis’ eyes widen in surprise, but Jared is gone. 

A little stunned, but no worse for wear, Noctis continues down the hallway to Gladio’s room. He knows which one it is, although he’s only been here a few times. He pushes the door open and Gladio’s scent fills his nostrils. He breathes it deep. 

He tries not to dawdle, but he’s charmed by the picture painted by Gladio’s belongings. The room is messier than Ignis would like it. Stacks and stacks of books line the walls, some in bookcases, others just piled on the floor. There are various duffle bags by the door next to a line of dirty sneakers, a shelf of crowded and indistinguishable trophies, a stuffed dog he’s probably had since infanthood, and a picture of Noctis beside his bed in the same frame his father wore beside Clarus’. In it, he must be no older than thirteen. Gladio must have received the framed picture after his swearing in and he’s been sleeping beside him since, all those years. Reading the same words every day. 

_Yours to protect, to serve, to love_

and

_Shield the King_

Noctis stares at it numbly for a while before whispering to himself.

“They made you for me.”

He pulls open the drawer and finds the lube, feeling a spike of jealousy that the bottle is half-full and box of condoms partly used. He pockets the lube and shuts the drawer. He gives Gladio’s room one last look before he heads back into the hall. 

Opening the door to Clarus’ room, Noctis’ is immediately greeted with the view of Gladio flushed and straining on the bed. His open pants reveal his thick cock, curved and red with neglect. His shirt open wide, tattooed chest rising and falling heavily as he breathes. 

“You kept me waiting,” Gladio growls, yanking against the belt and rutting his cock up into empty air. 

Noctis shuts and locks the door. 

“Actually, Jared kept you waiting, so you better watch your volume,” Noctis replies. 

“I’m not the noisy one,” Gladio chuckles. 

“We’ll see about that,” Noctis responds. 

“You left me tied to my dead father’s bed,” Gladio groans. “With my cock out, an unlocked door,” he pants. 

He approaches Gladio on the bed, examining the flush in his face, the way the pink extends all the way down his neck and onto his chest. 

“Why are you acting like you’re mad?” Noctis asks. “You obviously liked it.” 

Gladio doesn't say anything, but he yanks his wrists against his bounds again, curling his cock into the air. Noctis loves the sound the leather belt makes as it slaps the headboard. 

Noctis steps out of his jeans, bottle of lube in hand.

“You were a good boy,” he says. “Gonna reward you.” 

Gladio groans. Noctis climbs onto the bed and positions himself between Gladio’s thighs. He cranes his head to watch Noctis, all of the muscles in his abdomen tense with the effort. Noctis appreciates him for a moment, and then without preamble, takes Gladio’s cock in his mouth.

He doesn’t really know what he’s doing, but he knows what not to do, and he’s enjoying the experience enough right off the bat to find himself enthusiastically kissing up and down his cock, sucking on the tip hard enough to earn a salty burst on his tongue from a droplet of pre-cum. Gladio falls still beneath him, but his body trembles where he lay. 

“If-Ifrit…” Gladio gasps. “Shiva…” 

He lowers his mouth around his cock but can’t take much of him before his gag reflex stops him, so Noctis focuses on licking and sucking at his plump cockhead, occasionally dragging his lips lower to mouth at the side of his shaft. He wishes he could give him his hand, but Noctis can barely hold himself up on his left as is, and he needs his right hand to prepare himself. 

He slicks his fingers with lube and tugs his boxers down, pushing two fingers inside. He groans against Gladio’s cock and it makes Gladio convulse beneath him, but he does not lift his hips from the bed. Still, Noctis leans his forearm across Gladio’s lower belly to pin him there so he can kiss at his cock without worrying about getting an unwelcome throatful. 

He spreads his two fingers inside of himself, letting out a small whine while he presses his tongue into the slit at the tip of Gladio’s cock. Gladio’s hips strain up against his arm, but he’s withholding enough not to dislodge him. 

“Not enough, Noct,” he chokes out. 

“Neither is this,” Noctis grinds back, struggling to press a third finger into his restrictive entrance. 

Noctis takes Gladio as far as he can again, willing his throat to relax around the invasion of hard flesh. Gladio throws his head back onto the bed, panting. He moans, and the ragged sound makes Noctis’ tight body soften around his fingers, allows his throat to sink a little further onto Gladio’s cock. It’s empowering to know he’s making Gladio feel good.

He uses three fingers to shallowly stretch himself and he decides that’s all he’s gonna get. He’ll crack a potion, if he has to. 

He pulls off of Gladio with a wet pop and Gladio makes a sound that is half sob and half laugh. His arms are tense where he pulls against his shackles. He’s popped the seam on the inside of one sleeve. Noctis shimmies out of his boxers on the pocket of mattress between Gladio’s spread thighs. 

Gladio sits up as best he can so he may gaze down at him in awe. 

“You’re fucked up.” 

Gladio says it with appreciation, like he’s admitting it to it too. 

“Childhood trauma, a lifetime of loss, no control over my fate,” Noctis says, glaring at Gladio. “Let me have this one thing.” 

“Yes, master,” he says eagerly, eyes still locked on his face. 

Noctis smiles, leaning forward and patting Gladio on top of the head and the larger man writhes beneath his naked thighs, shifting Noctis around. He climbs to his knees and positions himself above Gladio’s yearning erection, letting Gladio’s cockhead only bump against his slickened opening, even when he reaches his hips up to meet him. Gladio pants and yanks at the headboard. 

“What do you want, pet?”

“Inside,” he howls. 

Noctis wants it too, so he doesn’t make him beg. He slowly lowers himself onto his impossible length, his barely prepared body resisting every inch of him that enters. Gladio falls perfectly still beneath him, save one long shuddering breath on which he steadies himself. He looks like he wants to shut his eyes against the pleasure, but he does not. He keeps them locked on Noctis and Noctis can’t look away from the glassy submission there. It takes a while, but eventually Noctis is fully seated on him, his legs and ass spread wide to accommodate his girth in both body and cock. 

“Better?” Noctis asks breathlessly. 

Slack-mouthed, Gladio nods. 

It hurts, so Noctis sits there for a while. He strokes his own cock slowly, feeling the pain ebb away until just a pleasant ache remains. He’s so hard, and it feels good to touch himself, so he lets slip a moan, staring right into Gladio’s eyes. Gladio’s eyes widen and he yanks desperately against the headboard, although his hips do not move. He begins to quake beneath Noctis. 

Noctis begins to raise and lower himself on Gladio’s cock and it doesn’t take long for him to lose his composure. He is so big, splitting him open and reaching deeper than he ever has before. The constant, unwavering pressure of Gladio’s swollen cockhead dragging back and forth across the bundle of nerves hiding inside of him makes Noctis mewl a little in a way he didn’t intend.

“How’s that big dog cock feel?” Gladio asks, his voice husky with arousal, but sounding less undone now that his cock is actually being worked. 

Noctis however, cannot answer, too focused on working himself back and forth in the same spot, abandoning his cock to lean on his hands over Gladio, arching his back and rolling onto his length with small swings to strike the same spot again and again. He doesn't _need_ his hand, he could cum like this. 

His body is starting to feel permanently battered by the frequency he is taking Gladio’s cock, and the dull ache in his ass and the burn between his thighs combine with the pleasure coursing from his tender spot in a way that makes Noctis feel bound to Gladio. It's his favorite way to be wounded by him, and the feeling of it overpowers any person Gladio may have touched in the past. Possessively, he thinks that Gladio will never touch another person again, unless he’s ripping out their throat.

Gladio gasps suddenly beneath him, hips rocking slightly into Noctis’ ass. His leather belt smacks against the bars every time he involuntarily reaches for Noctis. 

He begins to run his mouth, like it's the next best thing to touching him. 

“Why don't you wanna use a condom, Noct? Want my cum inside you that bad?” 

Noctis moans. The low grind of Gladio’s voice gives him chills. His arms buckle beneath him and his hips fall still on Gladio’s cock. He leaks onto his stomach where his erection hangs between them, he pants over his skin where his forehead presses to Gladio’s chest. Without prompting, Gladio takes over, thrusting his hips up rhythmically, quickly pumping himself in and out of Noctis. 

“Knew you’d get lazy,” he chuckles lowly, his voice gravelly through his pleasure. 

Noctis whines where he lay on Gladio, his arms folded across Gladio’s chest, his head turned to the side and nestled between his breasts. His whole body surges beneath him, but Noctis fits right on top, along for the ride. 

“You like to feel my cum inside of you? Dripping out your ass?” Gladio rambles, panting against the effort of fucking Noctis. “You want to defile the bed our fathers used to sleep in?”

“Used to _fuck_ in,” Noctis manages to whisper. 

Gladio growls, punching up inside of him and causing Noctis to cry out. He bites his lip, trying to swallow the sound. His hands snake up Gladio’s arms, wrapping around his elbows, spreading himself out on Gladio like he’s not feeling enough of him. He digs his fingers into him, groaning in rhythm with Gladio’s hardness hammering inside of him as he approaches his climax. Gladio yanks on the headboard a few times, curling his body around Noctis, pressing his face to the top of Noctis head and panting to him, “or maybe… there’s something else you want from me.” 

Gladio slows down to a painfully languid pace, rolling his hips slowly, digging his massive cock as deeply as he can into Noctis. Trembling on top of him, Noctis feels his edges begin to blur. He wants to let go, to dissolve until there is nothing and no one but his Shield. He wishes he could crawl inside of him, be consumed by him, and he shakily reaches for Gladio’s wrists, instantly regretting his bondage. 

“Don't think-- that's how-- it works, master,” he says lowly, his words broken across his own groaning. “But I would if I could.”

Noctis frantically tugs at the belt strap, his fingers clumsy and stupid as Gladio starts to fuck him fast again. Gladio is yanking against the headboard, fighting his bonds, and it makes it harder for Noctis to loosen the buckle, but he continues to desperately tug at it until he manages to slip the prong one hole. 

It's enough. Gladio rips his hands free and they land on Noctis’ ass with a slap that echos through the large bedroom. He holds Noctis to him firmly, each fingertip a point of bruising pleasure, keeping his cock buried to the hilt and growling as he flips them over in bed. He presses Noctis down into the mattress, and now that the beast is unleashed, all Noctis has to do is lay there and take it. 

Gladio bears down over him, humping into him hard and fast. His open shirt drapes around him, blocking out all of the light. Noctis wraps his arms and legs around him, clutching to him, and suddenly he is sobbing against Gladio’s collarbone. 

“Wanna put a pup in you, Noct.” 

Noctis explodes, his untouched cock shooting across both of their stomachs, and his clenching walls drag Gladio right along with him. Gladio groans long and low, his body falling perfectly still and Noctis zeros in on the sensation of the thick cock pulsing and emptying inside of him. 

It will never be, but he can pretend. 

Gladio comes to rest on top of him and Noctis lets him suffocate him for a while before he pats on his shoulder. Gladio heaves himself off of Noctis, very slowly pulling his softening cock from his raw entrance and laying down on the mattress beside him. 

“Woof,” Gladio says to the ceiling before rolling over to face him. 

Noctis can barely move, but he manages to lay his hand over Gladio’s wrist, fingers lightly tracing the purple grooves his struggling left behind. He tries to keep his eyes open, but the exertion from the Ring and being fucked-out catch up to him, and the last thing he sees are Gladio’s amber eyes studying him before he slips into sleep. 

When Noctis wakes up several hours later, the sun has set and he is nestled amongst the pillows of his bed back at the apartment, a comforter tucked up all the way beneath his chin. He reaches for his phone and frowns. It’s only four-thirty in the afternoon. The Ring is burning again and he’s missed a call from Ignis. 

Slowly, he drags himself out of bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading ^^
> 
> There will be one more chapter and a several month later time-skip companion piece to follow.
> 
> BEAUTIFUL LOVELY FANART BY WHIPPY: https://twitter.com/wppyart/status/894345219541303296


	9. Chapter 9

_18 hours until the crowning_

The King had fallen asleep at the Amicitia house, and stayed asleep the entire time Gladio carried him to the car, throughout the drive and even up the elevator, back into his bed at the apartment. 

After his King is tucked in, Gladio tries to read, but finds himself simply meditating in the silence of the apartment instead. He steps out onto the balcony and sits with the skyline. He gazes at Insomnia for over an hour, his eyes slowly scanning the seemingly endless horizon of the Wall, trying to see any indication of where today Noctis incinerated foreign soldiers from Clarus’ bed. He contemplates walls and their purposes, as both external structures and internal safeguards. Noctis is still learning which walls to build and which to tear down. 

_They both are._

The Wall around Insomnia consists of two halves: the physical stone wall that stands sixty feet tall, and the more elusive flickering blue shell that extends from the wall and across the sky, nearly translucent if you don’t know what you’re looking for. Gladio stares up at the cloudless sky and lets his eyes his eyes unfocus so he may catches glimpses of blue against blue. 

An entire horizon, an entire sky, a ring on the third finger of his King’s injured left hand. 

Tonight, Noctis will venture past that wall to declare war in the Lucian name. 

Gladio knows where he belongs.

A solitary bell interrupts the silence. Gladio reaches for his phone. 

_May I call?_

Gladio looks over his shoulder through the open glass door and into Noct’s bedroom. He locates his sleeping form before sliding the patio door shut. He dials Ignis. 

“Afternoon.”

“Hey.”

“How is Noctis?” 

“Still asleep.”

“We've confirmed the infiltration, launched from the Hammerhead base although it was only four Teks this time.”

“Melted them again?” 

“Indeed.” 

“Full of surprises, that one,” Gladio says thoughtfully. 

“Hopefully he feels well enough tonight,” Ignis muses across the line, and his uncertainty takes Gladio aback. 

“He’ll be fine,” Gladio says. “He just likes his naps. Trust him tonight, he’s a capable fighter.” 

Ignis hums through the phone, uncertain, but Gladio does not disclose to Ignis any details about their last match and Noctis’ untapped potential with the Ring. 

“You're right. I must admit I'm starting to feel nervous about tonight. I will stop by the market and prepare us some dinner. I need to busy my hands.” 

Gladio chuckles affectionately. 

“Not gonna say no to your cooking, Iggy.”

Half an hour later, the sun begins to sink, the sky shifting orange at only four in the afternoon. It's an interesting problem, one he hasn't quite wrapped his head around yet. Ignis is right to be concerned, he supposes. They don't know much about their enemy, but it is Noctis’ given destiny to at least try, and so Gladio can't think about much past the immediate concern of Shielding his King. He knows Noctis can fight, and now he wields the tremendous power of the Crystal. As long as he stays by his side, they'll be fine. 

And yet, the creeping darkness fills Gladio with the dreadful reminder that eventually, he will fail. The moon crests beyond the wall and its face is red in the mutation from day to early night. The moon seems to be saying only one thing: eventually, Noctis _will_ die. Maybe not tonight. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe twenty years from now. The image of their fathers, aged beyond their years, bleeding on the marble will never leave him. Twenty years. Probably no more than that. 

Gladio grips the edge of the railing and squeezes it in his hands. He leans over the edge and gazes down the side of the building like he’s seen Noct do. He thinks about that first night, where he was afraid Noctis might jump. Those first few days, the desire to die was so clear on Noctis’ face, resentment behind his eyes every time he looked his rescuer’s way. Gladio thinks about the peculiar way Noctis told him today that he suddenly wanted life instead. Hidden behind the pure sexual carnality of the desire is the implication that Noctis wants to continue his line, _their lines._ That, maybe, the entire history of the the Amicitias and Lucii wouldn’t die with them as the last of their names. 

Gladio is still standing on the balcony and frowning at the rising moon when Ignis enters the door half an hour later. 

He sits in the kitchen and watches Ignis cook. Prompto arrives a little later, and when he comes through the door, Ignis turns the fire off on the stove Ignis pulls open the freezer and pulls out three beers. He hands each one to Gladio, who opens them and passes them out. 

“Gentlemen,” he says softly, drink held out before him. 

Silently, they toast. 

Ignis returns to the cooking. Prompto sighs and attempts a smile at Gladio. 

A few minutes later, Noctis emerges from the bedroom in the sweatpants and hoodie Gladio put on him when he brought him home. Gladio brings the yawning King a beer and Noctis collapses into the barstool beside Gladio’s. When he sits back down, Noctis wheels his body to face him, knees against Gladio’s thigh and eyes on Ignis’ cooking. 

It's the first time the four of them have been in Noctis’ apartment like this since the tragedy. The men drink and chat lightly. They play their roles well, and it feels almost like nothing has happened. Noctis smiles. When dinner is served, they fall into the appreciative silence that Ignis’ meals often receive. Beneath the act was the knowledge that this may be their last night alive. 

The whole evening, Noctis touches Gladio in one way or another. Noctis doesn't even touch Gladio this much when it's just the two of them. Something about Prompto and Ignis’ presence, or maybe their approaching mission, but Gladio has to wonder if Noctis realizes he’s doing it. Their feet press together at the bar stools, a hand on his thigh beneath the dinner table. He drags fingers up the side of his neck when he rises to use the restroom and when he returns to the couch with a second beer, he leans on Gladio’s shoulder. 

They rest. And they savor these last few moments in the company of those they love the most. 

A quarter til, Ignis stands before the group. The three of them watch him as he paces slowly across the living room. He goes over the plan one last time. 

Noctis looks calm. Prompto looks determined. Ignis looks anxious, but excited too. Gladio’s ready. It will feel good to fight back against the force that stole his family. They’ve spent enough time cooped up at home. 

He has some unleashing to do. 

The men separate to different corners of the apartment to don their fatigues, but no one shuts any doors. Noctis stands and watches Gladio get dressed. 

While everyone else got something personalized, Gladio’s fatigues mostly mirror Noctis’, cut from the same cloth. Pants instead of shorts, a tank top instead of a t-shirt, matching jacket and left glove. He doesn't mind looking like he belongs to Noctis--on the battlefield, that's all that will matter. 

When he's dressed he turns to face the young King’s studious gaze. 

“No shirt,” Noctis says. 

“What?” 

“Take the shirt off. Just wear the jacket.” 

“Why?” Gladio asks in surprise. 

“I wanna be reminded what I'm fighting for,” Noctis tells him. 

Gladio stares back at Noctis for several moments, trying to read his blank face, trying to unpack the heavy meaning behind his words. Noctis just stands and stares back at him, spinning the Ring of Lucii around his finger with his thumb. 

_His King,_ Gladio thinks as he looks him over. He has been raised to do what Noctis needs him to do, and sworn to be who Noctis needs him to be. Gladio knows this, has known it all his life. In the past few days, Gladio has watched Noctis take control of his fate, his nation, his role in the Line or Lucis, and Gladio’s heart fills when he is reminded that _he_ is a part of that. He does what he needs to do, and what he selfishly loves to do, serve his King.

Gladio removes his shirt. 

They park the Regalia in the shadows five-hundred feet from their target. Quietly, the Crownsguard creeps through the night towards the base. Gladio brings up the rear, wanting to keep an eye on his team. He watches the soles of their shoes catch the moonlight as they go, already red with the anticipation of enemy blood. 

One-hundred feet away, they pause, crouching beneath a concrete retaining wall and Ignis repeats the plan one last time. 

“Destroy, retreat. Prompto, Gladio, protect the King.” 

Fifty feet away, the base comes into view and Gladio decides he wants his sword. An instant later, the heavy two-handed weapon materializes in his grasp. Noctis looks at him in surprise. 

Gladio had just been able to reach in and take it. 

Noctis materializes two daggers into Ignis’ gloved hands and bounces his father’s sword in his eager grip. Prompto changes the clip on his gun. 

There is a brief moment, standing on the outskirts of the base, that Gladio is given a chance to look at Noctis and he is struck by the sight of him in the moonlight, so similar to the night of their escape, where seeing Noctis wounded and brave had triggered the realization that Gladio was in love with him. 

On the eve of his coronation, Gladio knows surely that he loves Noctis even more today than he did then. For a heartbeat, Noctis meets his eyes, quickly raking them over his exposed chest and stomach and then he is a ghost of blue, hurling himself towards the base. 

The Crownsguard springs into action, breaking into a run to catch up to their center. By the time they reach him, Noctis has silently put three guards into the ground with clean blows to the back that kill them instantly. 

Gladio comes up behind him and Noctis whirls to face the Shield, his eyes wide with excitement, his face splattered with blood. 

“That’s one way to do it,” Ignis says evenly. 

The group slinks around the back of the low building, beneath scaffolding that Noctis occasionally jumps to, before skipping back down to them and saying, 

“Coast clear.” 

They sink further inside of enemy territory, and Gladio gets the distinct feeling that it's too quiet. They weren't to expect much, but the three aloof guards Noctis took down seemed almost ominously convenient. They round a low cinderblock wall and the generators come into view. Gladio and Ignis linger beside Noctis while Prompto flips open a switchblade and begins prying the control panel from the wall, exposing the wires. Gladio looks down at Noctis, who is watching Prompto intently, his left hand resting against Gladio’s side. 

“We’ve got company,” Prompto suddenly says, and they’re the same words Noctis had used in the courtyard of Fenestala Manor. He wheels to face Prompto, but Prompto is looking at the sky.

At same moment Gladio locates the assassins dropping from an aircraft above them, he feels Noctis warp out from between him and Ignis. 

“Suffer!” 

Spilling from behind the building, dozens of hostiles slither towards them, dual swords spinning in 360 degrees. 

And Noctis a flash of blue at the center. 

Ignis shouts, “We must retreat!” 

But Noctis cannot hear him, deafened by his battle, drowning beneath the whirling swords of the spineless assassins. 

They are hysterically outnumbered. Gladio’s singular mission casts his heart across the battlefield. He plows his way through the bodies, a feral growl torn from his throat, his great sword cutting down Teks as he goes. 

By the time Gladio reaches him, the King is doubled over dry-heaving over a heap of smoking corpses. He was successful, but he is in stasis, and the momentary peace will not last; another batch of hostiles twitches demonically around the wall. Gladio grabs Noctis by the arm, and at just his touch, he seems to recover himself, standing upright in a ripple of blue light. 

“Good timing,” he rasps, smiling. His white teeth shine in his mask of brown blood. 

“Get ‘em,” he tells Gladio, warping away again. 

Snarling, Gladio swings his sword towards the Teks, severing their spines. 

“We must retreat!” Ignis calls out a second time. 

This time, Noctis does hear him, running in Ignis’ direction, grabbing Prompto by the arm as he passes him. Gladio cuts a broad arc through the Teks, clearing enough land for his brothers to move, knocking back every hostile that makes a play, not stopping to think or breathe or do anything but spare the lives of his men until Noctis shouts his name. 

“Gladio!” 

And he runs. 

The Crownsguard crashes into the darkness, falling over brush as they shut off their chest lights and jog up the hillside. Gladio’s ears are trained behind them for the sound of footsteps, or the whir of a vehicle but their small numbers are an advantage in becoming one with the landscape and they manage to disappear from the battlefield. 

At Ignis’ suggestion, they crawl on top of an outcropping of rock, allowing themselves a vantage point. They are on the wrong side of the land, the Regalia a quarter mile jog back across the property. Floodlights and alarms have sounded, and the Niflheim base glows in the landscape. Swarms of Teks march the illuminated ground, looking for them. Forty of them? Fifty? Maybe more. 

Noctis cusses beside him. 

“A moment to analyze,” Ignis says. 

“A few more than we expected,” Prompto says. 

“It was foolish to not revise our plan of attack after the knowledge of an excursion on the wall this morning,” Ignis says. “They’ve prepared for us.” 

A wave of blinding light falls over the four men and they wince back at the watch tower. A siren wails out and the assassins on the ground begin to funnel towards them. 

“Spotted,” Gladio grunts. 

From this distance, Prompto is the only one of any use, and he picks off the hostiles as they approach, one after another, bullet after bullet. Noctis groans wordlessly, punching his hand through the air in frustration. 

“Uh, guys? We need a plan,” Prompto says, dropping an empty clip and securing another without pausing the steady thunking of his trigger pulls. 

“Noctis,” Ignis addresses him directly. “You need to warp to the generators, you can delivery no more than one strike. Hit it, and immediately warp as far away as you can. The goal is detonation.” 

“Easily a hundred meters,” Gladio says urgently. “He’s never warped that far.” 

“I can do it,” Noctis asserts. 

“If you don’t turn around fast enough--” Gladio says, wheeling on Noctis, his hands landing hard on his shoulder. Noctis turns to face him and Gladio can feel both of their hearts beating where he clutches at him. 

“I can do it,” he says again, interrupting him. He looks up at Gladio and Gladio desperately searches his eyes. Noctis brings his left hand up to lay on Gladio’s chest and his skin instantly singes where the Ring touches him, but Gladio does not flinch

“You must do it,” Ignis says. Prompto tosses another empty clip, the pile of bodies growing fifty yards away, causing the wave of hostiles to split into two rivers that Prompto must try to manage.

“Low on bullets!” Prompto warns. 

“It is our only chance,” Ignis says surely. “Your Majesty.” 

In an instant, Noctis has vanished from his grip, leaving an icy blue decoy of his body in his wake, Gladio’s hands plunging through its hollow form. 

He streaks across the nightsky, forty, sixty, eighty meters away. Gladio holds his breath, his eyes tracking the King’s form, praying to the Astrals that he remains on his path, knowing that one slip up, one miscalculation, and Noctis will fall to his death. 

Gladio gasps when Noctis makes contact with the generators, a deafening screech of metal preceding a cloud of fire, and the shimmering immaterial outline of Noctis as he races against it, back towards his men. 

Ignis yells, “Get down!” 

But Gladio does not move. He stands tall and tracks Noctis’ body across the night sky, watching the veil of flames eat away at the distance between it and the King, swallowing everything in its path.

Three more seconds, two, one. 

Gladio launches himself off of the ground, catching Noctis in the air, wrapping his hand surely around Noctis’ ankle as the King becomes flesh once more. Gladio yanks him out of the path of the explosion and hurls their bodies to the ground. 

He pins Noctis to the rock beneath his body, and despite the blanket of fire that sweeps over them, Gladio feels nothing but Noctis and his shaking hands, skating over his bare chest while he tries to steady his ragged breathing. They lay there for several minutes, until the heat begins to recede and the wind from the blast slows to a breeze. 

Through the ringing in his ears, Gladio hears Noctis murmur, “thanks.”

Cautiously, the four men sit up, gazing out at the incinerated landscape, marred black by the explosion, the skeletons of a few lone trees glowing red in their trunks. The base is a heap of rubble with no signs of life and dark smoke curls its way into the sky, temporarily blinding the curious moon. 

“Inadvertent though it was, we dealt the empire a crushing blow today,” Ignis muses. “Is everyone alright?” 

“Still here,” Noctis says. 

“None worse for wear,” Gladio answers, tenses his back muscles against his burnt flesh. 

Prompto sits wide-eyed and silent. 

Noctis gives everyone a potion from their supply, and with no reason to hurry, the four of them take their time climbing to their feet and taking inventory of themselves.

Suddenly, Prompto spins around to face Noctis, blank shock cracking into a squinty grin. 

“That was _so cool!”_ He cheers, the realization of their victory settling in. “Is this gonna be our thing now?” 

“We’ll see,” Ignis says while he cleans his glasses with a cloth from his blazer pocket. “For now, we should be getting home. We have time for a few hours rest before the Coronation.” 

“Pretty sweet busting up that base,” Prompto says still fidgeting around from the high that follows the narrow dodge of death. “Bust-a-base! I like the sound of that for this sort of thing.” 

Gladio feels the adrenaline too, of course, in the form of fervently coursing relief of their victory, of securing Noctis’ safety, of having the King close beside him once more. He reaches to put an arm around him, but Noct shrugs it away. Still, he’s smiling when he cuts his eyes to Gladio and so Gladio lets him lead the way back towards the Regalia, his Crownsguard in tow. 

As they climb into the Regalia, they try to kick the mud from their boots. 

“Take us to the Amicitia house,” Noctis says. “Not sure the building wants ash and blood in the elevator.” 

Jared prepares guest bedrooms for the Crownsguard, but Noctis quietly requests to Gladio that they sleep in Clarus’ room. They share a final round of strong drinks, take turns in the shower, and retreat to bed. 

It's no stranger to sleep in his father’s bed than it was to get fucked in it, and Gladio feels oddly at ease as he undresses and slips into the bed beside his King. He is reminded of climbing into the bed as a child to pester his father with some trivial matter or another that his father struggled to have the time or energy for. He remembers feeling like he could never fill such a large bed, that his dad was so big and his presence so commanding. Now, the bed feels full with Noctis beside him. 

Noctis lay on his side for a long time, facing the photo of Regis that lives on the end table. Rather than try to coax him into talking about what is on his mind, Gladio lays behind him and looks at it over his shoulder. Taken the day of Regis’ Coronation, in it the late King looks eerily like his son, not just in his face, but in the way he carries himself, the way he won't meet the camera’s eyes. 

King Regis was, after everything, respected and successful with what he set out to do. Gladio wonders how much of that success had been in his own father’s hands. In the wake of their victory tonight, the drive to serve and protect Noctis is a fire inside of him. 

His father and Regis made the choice to lay down their weapons, and neither of their sons ever asked to fight their war, but for the first time Gladio feels like he and Noctis are ready to pick up where they left off. Gladio has been training his whole life for this, but know he knows that preparation would have fallen short without a King that he trusts and loves beside him.

Suddenly, Noctis rolls over to face him. He presses himself against Gladio’s bare chest. Gladio wraps an arm around him, holding him close. Laying his open mouth against Gladio’s neck, Noctis begins to lazily suck bruises into his skin. 

Gladio shudders under his work, laying backwards in the bed and petting down Noct’s back and shoulders as he crawls on top of him, still worrying the skin on his collarbone and chest. For the first time since the terrible night he knelt over Noctis’ draining body, Gladio cries. This time, they are not the smothering tears of grief, but an overflowing of joy.

“Noct…” he sighs. 

Noctis doesn't respond, but he bites and sucks at Gladio until he drifts asleep, still laying on top of Gladio, his head on his chest. 

-

Gladio catches his first glimpse of Noctis in his most formal attire over Ignis’ shoulder as the King’s advisor fusses over him, pinching his hair in place with gel on his fingers. Noctis frowns, staring unseeing at the wall over Ignis’ shoulder as the man elevates him to perfection. When Ignis steps away to survey his work, Gladio can see his King, dressed sharply head to toe in black pinstripe, his small pale hands concealed by thick leather gloves, a large silver skull pendent on the back of each. He wears ornamental armor over his left arm, like a mechanical sleeve, silver and glinting. 

Gladio smiles encouraging at Noctis when their eyes meet, and their gaze holds for a few moments before Gladio realizes that Ignis is looking at him too. “What do you think?”

Gladio tugs at the sleeves of his own jacket, unsure what kind of response Ignis is seeking. “Looks like royalty.”

“I see,” Ignis murmurs to himself, turning his gaze back to Noctis. 

His terse response gives Gladio pause and he looks back to study the picture of Noctis once more. 

“He looks handsome,” he admits. 

Ignis hums to himself, more pleased. “Ten minutes, boys,” He says before grabbing his own garment bag and disappearing into the restroom. 

Gladio is certain his face is red but Noctis has looked away from him to study himself in the mirror, the foggy cloud of emotions unreadable on his face

-

Gladio is sure that Noctis is thinking it too– the coronation drums up shallowly buried memories of the wedding and as soon as they arrive, Gladio wishes he could grab Noctis and run back out. Instead, he does his duty, stays firmly at Noct’s side and occasionally brushes a hand or an elbow to remind him that he is not alone, that Gladio will protect him with his life should any threat come to him.

Before they left Noctis’ apartment, Noctis reached for the hilt of the ornate blade strapped to Gladio’s waist in thick black leather, handed down through generations of Amicitas and finally coming into Gladio’s possession, oiled and cleaned and not showing its age. Noctis wrapped his hand around the hilt and held it firm, staring at it. Gladio had just waited patiently, studying his gentle face. 

At the altar of the coronation, when Gladio finally glances back at him, Gladio bumps his forearm against the hilt, reminding him he is there, he is safe. He wants to tell him the sword is not just a symbol and he will never hesitate, just like he didn’t hesitate on that fated night. Noctis looks back at the high priestess, long slow prayers and royal decrees rolling rhythmically off her tongue. 

Gladio has read this all in textbooks and in historical novels. He knows the history of Lucis, the power of the kings and the Six. The words are a song faded into the background as Gladio’s eyes sweep over the hall. The room is much smaller than the one in which the funeral was held. Less than one hundred people sit in audience, all expensively dressed people whose names Ignis probably has memorized. 

Ignis and Prompto are at Gladio’s side, standing stock still–stiller than Gladio has even seen Prompto– their faces reflect firm awe. They are standing apart from Cor and the other leaders still left alive and those newly appointed under Ignis’ careful scrutiny.

Though Gladio is focused on his blade and the best plan of attack as the moment approaches, no one protests as Noctis recites his vows. The priestess knowingly burns her lip on the Ring of Lucii. Gladio licks over the taut skin left behind in the wake of his own healing burn. 

Ignis is the one to retrieve the crown. He steps away from the lineup to left a silver branch from a velvet pillow. It is newly forged, since no artifacts were recovered from the massacre at Tenebrae. Small white gems buried within the branches catch the light, showing its new life for a new King. Ignis gingerly hands the crown to the priestess, who fastens the crown over Noctis’ ear. It wraps further around the back of Noctis’ head than his father’s did. The branches are longer, more wild. It looks heavy, but Noctis steels himself, his normally soft shoulders a firm straight line of duty.

When Gladio was a child, he thought Noctis would make a lousy King. He was lazy, disinterested, and detached, but when Gladio looks at him now, he no longer sees the child he once resented. They have grown to respect and love each other, and when Gladio looks at Noctis now, he does see a King and he can’t help but think that Noctis looks more focused than portrait of young Regis on his father’s bedside table. Gladio knows without a doubt that his father must have always seen the King in Regis, even when they were kids. He wishes he could see his father now that he knows his secret. He wishes he could see the love in his eyes. Gladio hopes no one in the audience sees the look in his own eyes, how he must be reflecting what he is thinking behind his misty eyes.

That night in Tenebrae, Noctis fought for his kingdom despite the trauma of seeing his loved ones murdered. Noctis threw his swords and dashed around the courtyard under the moonlight, not looking back for one moment as he fought for his life and defense of his people back home in Insomnia. Gladio saw the King there for the first time, saw the man the boy had become and the King he was in love with. 

Gladio wants to show the audience his undying fealty.

When the crown is placed, the priestess drops to her knees, her forehead on the floor. 

Noctis turns to his Crownsguard and Gladio’s breath catches to see Noctis looking back at him in his crown, ethereal and strong. He approaches slowly, his hands out. 

He meets Ignis first, and Ignis drops swiftly to one knee, smooth with practice and reverence. Noctis places a hand on his shoulder and squeezes.

Prompto kneels before Noctis is even in front of him, his wide-open wondering eyes locked up on Noctis’ face, his head tilted back. Noctis grips his shoulder and jostles him slightly. 

When Noctis stands in front of Gladio, Gladio can feel his heart trying to reach out to meet him, thumping hard in his chest. The mask of duty over Noctis’ eyes has cracked with each of his men that he approaches, but Gladio can see right down into him, see the strength buried deep within Noctis, drummed up for display today. He can see the swift fighter that warped around the Niflheim base declaring war in the dead of night. Gladio can see the lover that stood on his balcony, face illuminated by moonlight, and told Gladio he wanted to fly. 

Gladio falls to one knee and bows his head, exposing the vulnerable top of his spine to Noctis. The hand that lands on him is not on his shoulder, but on the juncture at the base of his neck. Noctis squeezes and when Gladio looks up at him, he is filled with the need to slaughter armies with his King’s name on his lips.

Noctis smiles at him, a secret.

Noctis turns to his kingdom and kneels. The audience erupts in deafening applause, shouting their blessings to the astrals.

\--------

By the time everything is said and done, it is past three in the afternoon and Ignis finally gives Noctis permission to leave Palace property. As Noctis turns the key in the ignition, the sky begins to fade with the ominously early sunset. 

“Only nine hours of daylight today,” Noctis grumbles. 

“I’m not afraid of the dark,” Gladio tells him. 

Noctis drives slowly through Citadel property, his eyes sweeping over the landscape as it is slowly repainted in golden light. 

“Sorta pretty,” Noctis muses. 

“Look at the pitch,” Gladio says, pointing at the elevated field behind the Training Center. The central aged oak pierces the transforming sky with its black silhouette. 

“A spectacular place to watch the sunset,” Noctis says, “but I don’t feel like walking.” 

Gladio smiles, leaning over and nudging Noctis in the arm. 

“I’m pretty sure the King can park wherever he wants.” 

Noctis frowns, then shrugs and smiles, punching the Regalia right up onto the lawn, flattening the grass beneath his wheels, erupting in uncontrollable and contagious laughter. They park beneath the tree and sit on the hood of the car. Noctis lights a cigarette and he smokes facing the sun as it slowly dips beneath Insomnia’s walls.

“Wait,” Noctis says, suddenly leaning across the hood of the car and putting his cigarette in between Gladio’s lips. “I almost forgot.” 

He slides to the ground and walks to the back of the car, retrieving a small wrapped gift box from the trunk. Noctis hands it to Gladio, who still sits dumbly in the same position. Leaning against the wheel, he takes his cigarette from Gladio’s lips.

“A Coronation gift, for the Shield.” 

Gladio looks at Noctis in surprise, but the King looks away from him, blowing smoke into the breeze.

Inside of carefully wrapped package there is a small dark, wooden box. Gladio runs his thumb over the words carved into the surface. 

_Clarus-_  
‘Til death  
-Reg 

Suddenly shaking, Gladio lifts the lid. Inside, nestled amongst black velvet, a long string of alternating light and dark beads and hand carved ebony skulls. Gladio lifts the necklace, and the X pendant that hangs heavy in iron swings back and forth between them. 

Gladio looks past it at Noctis, who is still avoiding his gaze. He snuffs his cigarette out on the tire and pockets the stub. 

“Didn’t want a ring,” Noctis says flippantly, like he’s trying to downplay the meaning of his gesture, his words. 

“Noct,” Gladio tries, needing his eyes. 

The King looks up at him then. 

“C’mere,” he says, leaning against the side of the Regalia and taking the necklace from Gladio’s hands. Gladio lowers his head so Noctis may place it around his neck. 

Gladio presses the pendant against his chest with one hand and grabs Noctis by the arm before he can slip away. 

“Noct,” he says, dragging him back towards him. “Listen to me.” 

Noctis won’t meet his eyes, but his expression is soft where he studies the jewelry on Gladio’s neck and Gladio knows he’s listening because he leans towards Gladio, his hand resting on Gladio’s thigh. 

“I love you,” Gladio says. “It’s okay, don’t say it back. Just need you to know.”

Noctis pets Gladio’s thigh a few times, staring at his necklace a few moments longer before he tilts his face up and kisses him. Gladio slides off of the car so he may lean back against it and pull Noctis’ body into his. Noctis’ hands stroke over the necklace and his bare skin and Gladio holds his hips pressed tight against his.

By the time they finish kissing, the sun has been replaced with the moon. 

“Let’s go inside,” Noctis suggests, nodding towards the Training Center, his hands petting over the beginning of arousal beneath Gladio’s dress pants. 

Noctis parks the car in front of the center. It's pitch black inside, all practices suspended for the Coronation. He doesn't turn any lights on, instead using his phone as a flashlight while he unlocks the door to their room. 

Gladio has never been here at night before and it’s not night exactly, just the day masquerading as such, but so much has changed and so quickly, he feels like he’s stepped into a new life. After all these years, to stand in this room with Noctis, who is no longer just a prince... 

Noctis shuts the door and turns off his flashlight. Through the darkness of the room, only the faintest outline of Noctis is visible where the moon creeps in through the small windows positioned at the top of the high ceilings. Noctis comes up behind him and wraps his arms around Gladio from behind. 

No longer his prince. His King. And so much more. To stand with him in _this_ room, in this foreign darkness on the dawn of their father’s war... 

Gladio turns to face him, but his eyes have not adjusted to the darkness and he stares down into the void, trying to see him. 

Noctis kisses him.

His hands are everywhere, touching as much of Gladio as he can and he is starting to feel breathless from all of Noctis’ focused attention, gifts, affection. His heart still beats wildly in his chest every time the dodgy liege meets his eyes and grins, let alone touches him, and lately Noctis has been grabbing at him like he’ll never get enough before time runs out. 

It is obvious right away what Noctis wants from him, from the way his tongue probes urgently into Gladio’s mouth. Noctis lays his hands flat on Gladio’s stomach and steadily pushes him backwards until he is up against the wall. Noctis is up on his toes, mouth on his neck rolling his hips against Gladio’s while they grow hard against each other. 

It happens so instantly with Noct. Gladio seems to have no control over his arousal with the other man requesting it. He's more than happy to give Noct what he wants. 

“Kneel for me,” Noctis murmurs into his skin. 

Gladio obediently drops to his knees. He can hardly see Noctis through the darkness, but he reaches his long arms out and tugs him close. Noctis steps up to him, hands behind Gladio’s head, pulling him forward so his chin comes to rest on the hard bulge at the front of Noctis’ suit pants. 

“What a good boy,” he tells him, and Gladio puffs his chest in pride. 

He can barely see Noct through the darkness, but he looks up at him anyway and sees him as he did on his knees at the crowning a few hours before. He is so immensely proud of Noctis that he feels like he might burst. Never could he have imagined that he was be on his knees with a face full of his King’s hard cock the evening of his Coronation, but Gladio can’t shake the thought submitting to Noctis like this is somehow making his lover stronger. He knows he’s making him happier. 

He can feel hands come to the belt buckle in front of his face, the leather singing as he slips it from his waist. Noctis suddenly squats, Gladio’s hands falling away from him in surprise. Noctis deftly catches Gladio’s wrist in a leather loop and suddenly Gladio finds his right arm cinched up against the wall.

Stunned into inaction, Noctis manages to unbuckle Gladio’s belt and tug it free, using it to secure his other wrist in a similar fashion, wrapped in the belt and then fasten it through a heavy metal eyelet on each side. Usually used to fasten gym equipment or weight racks, Gladio gives an experimental tug on the metal and finds hard resistance. Noctis moves so quickly it was almost as if he could see. Gladio’s clothes pull snug across his spread chest, his wanting erection uncomfortable in his slacks. 

“All good, puppy dog?” 

Gladio yanks on his bonds and sticks out his tongue, panting up at Noctis as his answer. 

Noctis chuckles inwardly, but in the abandoned gymnasium, Gladio can hear the quiet satisfaction in it, and it thrills him. 

“Squat,” Noctis says, his foot nudging between Gladio’s knees. “Knees up. I wanna stand between your legs.” 

Gladio immediately brings his legs under himself and folds them into squat position. Gladio will give Noctis whatever he wants. The position is uncomfortable, putting him lower to the floor and causing the leather belts to bite sharply into his wrists. His cock is pinched painfully by his pants. And he really does feel like a dog, sitting on his haunches. Despite the relative darkness of the room, his ears burn in embarrassment. 

But then Noctis steps up between his legs and presses his crotch against Gladio’s face, gently petting his hands over his hair and none of it matters. Noctis pulls away from him after a moment. Gladio breathes out slowly while Noctis drags his hands down the side of his face, over his neck and along the string of beads he’d just gifted him. 

“Master,” he says into the darkness. 

“Pet,” Noctis says with a flash of his teeth caught in the moonlight. Gladio’s eyes track his smile, straining in an attempt to see his face. Noctis brings his hands over his shoulders and begins to unbutton his shirt where it pulls tight across his chest. He breathes deeply in gratitude. 

Noctis opens his shirt completely, and the cool air of the training room slithers beneath his clothing, giving him goosebumps. Noctis is kneeling in front of him again and Gladio tries to lean forward to kiss him or lick him but he’s caught by his bondage. He whines instead, Noctis’ hands making quick work of untucking his thick desire and dropping it between his legs. He moans in relief at the release of pressure and he cannot help but flush in embarrassment at the sounds he's making, his eager behavior, the exposure of his arousal from his formal attire.

Noctis can only see what the moon will let him but Gladio can practically feel his critical eyes crawling over him in the darkness. For a second time, Gladio finds himself wondering if Noctis can see in the dark. After a moment, Noctis steps into him again and Gladio can hear the slow grind of Noct’s zipper as he opens his pants. 

“I’m still not used to having you whenever I want you.”

Noctis brings his cock towards Gladio in the darkness and Gladio leans forward against his wrists to meet him with his tongue. 

Lowly he adds, “I want you all the time.” 

Noctis slowly fucks his cock across the surface of Gladio’s waiting tongue, moaning deep in his throat. The sound of his pleasure makes Gladio leak between his legs. 

_You can have me all the time._

He wants to shout it, but he doesn't think he should pull away to speak, so he grunts and pulls against the wall instead, hopeful that his hunger tells Noctis exactly that. He closes his mouth around Noct’s flesh, pressing his tongue up against the underside of his shaft, giving him a hot, wet hole to fuck. He immediately starts knocking back into his throat and Gladio breathes heavily through his nose to keep from gagging. The King thrusts into him sloppily, but the satisfaction of making Noctis feels good outweighs his discomfort. 

Noctis’ hands fall to Gladio’s head, fingernails sharp in his scalp as he leans his body weight on him. Gladio lets him, bracing his back and shoulder so Noctis can. Groaning, Noctis finds a rhythm and Gladio is surprised to feel his body yielding to him with every thrust. 

“You feel so good,” Noctis breathes. “Good, good boy.” 

Hearing emphatic words of genuine praise from his typical impassive voice makes Gladio’s cock throb painfully and he ruts up into the hollow air. 

“...Feel so good...just for me…”

_Just for you,_ Gladio thinks desperately. His jaw aches, and drool starts to slip down his chin, but he will not move, if this is what Noctis wants. _Cannot move_ , he thinks, leaning against his restraints. Noctis doesn’t have to tie him up, Gladio will do whatever he says, but he doesn’t mind the bondage. He likes to show Noctis that he trusts him. He likes the way the mild discomfort burns away at his inner monologue, just like pushing himself through a workout will do. 

“...My favorite thing…” he pants “...of everything in this damned kingdom…” he shoves himself deep into Gladio’s waiting mouth, groaning, “...is you, Gladio.” 

The longer Noctis fucks into his mouth, the less air he manages to get, and the harder Gladio has to pull on his wrists to keep himself upright enough to take Noctis’ cock. The young King leans on him, humping in his mouth with little regard for the way Gladio’s head knocks back against the wall. The stronger the discomfort, the fuzzier Gladio begins to feel. The trickle of drool in his beard and down his neck fades away, the bite of leather against his pulsing wrists just adds to the burning desire in his groin. Noctis stands between his legs, his calves pressed against the inside of Gladio’s thighs, but his cock finds no relief and he whines around his flesh. 

The heavy metal pendant on his father’s necklace hits his chest with every thrust and it reminds Gladio that this too is serving his King. 

“...That’s it, doggy…good tongue…” 

Gladio can hardly hear Noctis. His heart beats like a drum in his ears, in his throat, out his chest. Noctis’ hands clench into tight fists in his hair and his thrusts become erratic and unpredictable as he approaches his edge. Gladio sits dutifully still, holding himself up. His arms burn from exertion and the grip around his wrists. Noctis gives him no warning, but maybe he didn’t know himself. The young King gasps and falls still, spilling hot and eager onto Gladio’s tongue. 

Still hard, Noctis continues to fuck himself across Gladio’s tongue, but languidly now, and Gladio is able to pant through his open mouth. Noctis’ fingers join his cock on his tongue, playing through the mixture of Gladio’s saliva and his own cum. Gladio’s eyes have only barely adjusted to the darkness, and he cannot discern any details, he feels the wind of Noctis dropping his dress pants on his naked cock and the hears the wet sound of Noctis’ fingers crawling between his legs.

“... Belongs to me… _my_ Shield… _my_ guard dog” 

Noctis is murmuring to himself and Gladio tries to regain control of his own breathing so he can hear him. Regardless, the message is clear. Still clutching a fistful of Gladio’s hair, Noctis pulls his head to the side and Gladio can see the whites of Noctis’ eyes while he looks down at him. He fucks into Gladio’s mouth sideways and Gladio coughs when his cock slips into his throat, some of Noct’s seed slipping down his walls. Noctis pulls Gladio off of him and lets him cough, the hand in his hair loosening so he may scratch at his scalp. 

“Sorry, puppy,” Noctis breathes. “It’s just--” 

Noctis suddenly pulls Gladio back onto his cock, driving himself as deeply into Gladio’s mouth as he can, his hands firm on the side of Gladio’s face to hold him still. Gladio gags around him but he is unable to pull back. Noct’s one-handed grip is bruisingly strong and the Ring of Lucii burns against his scalp. 

“--you were supposed to wait for me.”

Noctis pulls back and Gladio is granted a moment to try to compose himself. He looks up at Noctis but the moon must have slipped out of sight and Gladio can see nothing above him but the looming abyss. 

“How many people before me, Gladio?” 

“They don’t matter,” he say urgently. 

“You were impatient,” Noctis whispers through the dark, a little unsteady. 

Noctis slips his hard flesh back into Gladio’s waiting mouth and Gladio whimpers around him when he pulls back out slowly, leaning against the pain in his wrists and shoulders to hold on to the sweet taste of his skin as long as he can. 

“You’ve _always_ belonged to me,” Noctis says, punctuating the statement by shoving himself back into Gladio’s wetness and he growls this time, pressing his tongue firmly against his cock and yanking against the wall. Noctis rocks on him a few times, panting softly to himself before pulling him off with a pop. 

“Should have been me,” Noctis says darkly, unclenching his fingers from Gladio’s hair to pet tenderly down his scar.

Gladio is in too foggy a state to think of what to say. His mouth hangs open, but the words won’t come. He begins to struggle against his wrists, willing the leather to stretch just enough to slip free, suddenly desperate to touch Noctis, to reassure him. A surprise in the darkness, Noctis suddenly lays his fingers on Gladio’s tongue. Gladio sucks them obediently and the flavor confirms his suspicions. Panting through his nose, Gladio focuses on just pulling his right hand free and thinks for just a moment he feels some give, but he is interrupted by the return of Noct’s fist in his hair and his cock in his throat. 

“You'll never touch anyone else again.”

_I don’t want to!_

But now that he knows the words, Noctis is determined to choke him again and Gladio cannot say what he wants to say. Gladio sputters around his cock, his eyes searching the air above him for the face of his King. His core burns against the effort of repeatedly gagging, his thighs tremble in his squat, supporting not only his own body weight, but the body weight of the increasingly heavy man above him, and his cock throbs mercilessly hard between his legs, apparently loving the entire experience. 

_I wouldn’t have,_ he wants to say, _if I had known._

“Gonna make sure everyone knows you were made for me.”

_Only you._

“Gonna mark you up and burn your shirts.”

_Brat._

Noctis is groaning and the wet sound of his fingers spreading his own hole gives Gladio chills. 

“Gonna… get you a collar, doggy,” he manages. “Keep you on leash.” 

His body is aflame and Noctis’ possessive chatter finally pushes him over the edge. He heaves against his right wrist as hard as he can, and just as the drywall begins to crumble, the clouds clear and Gladio can see Noctis again, shrouded in moonlight, an expression of pure delight on his face while he watches Gladio’s efforts. He steps back from the Shield, his cock slipping off Gladio’s tongue, pulling his fingers out of himself with a small gasp. Gladio continues to rhythmically tug against the wall, every pull granting him slightly more room to fight against it. 

Noctis stands stunned, pumping himself and staring right at Gladio. Gladio bellows as rips his wrists from the wall. 

In a cloud of drywall dust, Gladio leaps at Noctis and throws him to the mat, their bodies sliding several feet across the plastic. Noctis huffs beneath him, trying to catch his breath but Gladio is too frenzied to give him the chance. He flips him over easily and hauls his hips up against his. 

Noctis presses into him eagerly, gasping, “that’s it, baby.” 

A choked sob catches in Gladio’s throat and his hands fall to the ground to brace himself. His wrists sting and bleed around the leather still wrapped tight, the metal hardware he tore from the wall dragging heavily across the mat as Gladio scrambles to mount Noctis. 

His cock knows the way. 

Noctis cries out as Gladio digs up inside of him, rapidly filling him with his wanting flesh. His rhythm is frantic from the start, the King’s ministrations have him impossibly wound up, and now at the explosion of his need, Gladio finds himself feral and frantic and unable to stop. 

Noctis is sobbing beneath him and Gladio pants heavily as he fucks him into the floor, pressing his hot breath into the skin at Noctis’ neck, breathing in deeply his scent with every gasping inhalation. 

Gladio isn't going to last and so he angles for Noctis’ pleasure, knowing exactly where to find his spot, having been the one to put it there. He hammers his hard flesh into Noctis’ impossibly tight walls, his King tight and hot and commanding around his most vulnerable self, the one that serves this perfect boy, obeys his whims, makes him a King. 

Through a broken voice strung along the sound of Noctis’ crying comes a declaration that makes Gladio’s heart swell to burst. 

“Gladio!-- I-- I love you.” 

Noctis is pulled under a moment later, his entire body seizing up around Gladio’s pistoning, screaming around his own flesh where he bites the meat of his bicep. Gladio bears down into him and fucks him back open with slow, deep strokes. It is enough. Panting, Gladio fills Noctis until his seed spills back onto their thighs where their bodies still join. Noctis sighs in satisfaction. 

“I love you,” he says again and this time his words are steady and sure. 

Without dismounting, Gladio lifts Noctis in his arms and sits back on on his knees. He cradles his small body to his chest while he slowly softens inside of him and he can feel his father’s necklace pressed between them. He kisses the healing bite mark in the crook of Noct’s neck. 

“I love you, I love you,” Gladio tells him.

“Alright,” the King says and Gladio can feel him gesturing with his hand. “That’s enough.” 

Gladio obeys, but he cannot help but chuckle, his happiness too much to contain. Noctis had not only said it once, but he said it twice, and even if he never says it again, Gladio will live his whole life with those words burning like a fire in his heart. 

After a few moments, Noctis crawls off of his lap and pulls his pants up. The moon shines bright and vigilant through the window, illuminating Noctis in white light and Gladio watches him collapse on the mat, dusty from the gouged wall and splattered with their love making. Noctis lets it ruin his Coronation dress, stretching his arms above his head and settling in like he’s ready for a nap. 

The Shield sprawls out on the floor beside his King. Noctis reaches for his wrists and gently begins to loosen the belts where they cut into his skin. He tosses the leather behind him and rolls towards Gladio so he may kiss the worried dents wrapping around his wrists. 

“You okay?” Noctis asks.

“Yeah,” Gladio assures him. 

“Me too.” 

They lay on the floor of the gymnasium with their hands clasped and their faces turned towards each other. Gladio runs each of his fingertips over the Ring of Lucii, which shines brightly in the darkness where it catches the moon. It hurts less and less as the days go by, his skin hardening against repeated wounds. The moon stares down at them through the high windows, looming and ever suspicious, reminding Gladio that while their time together may be short, it will not be wasted. They stay there like that until Noctis falls asleep, their gaze only breaking as his blue eyes finally flutter shut. 

The Shield lifts his King’s quiet body from the floor and cradles him to his chest while he carries him to the Regalia. 

Gladio takes them home.

 

 

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading The Killing Moon! 
> 
> I'd love to hear what you think about this fic, either here or on twitter! 
> 
> For those of you that were disappointed there ended up being no actual collar and leash, please stay tuned, there is a companion piece coming! 
> 
> Another thank you to my beta and my Shield beforethequeen for your many hours work on this story and for loving it as much as I do! I completed a piece I am proud of and have you entirely to thank for it.

**Author's Note:**

> a huge thank you to beforethequeen who has intensely beta-ed and critiqued this story along the way. you've helped me write something I am very proud of! 
> 
>  
> 
> come yell at me on twitter @taketheblanket


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